


Those Games You Like

by Idea Turnstile (jatty)



Category: Pierce the Veil
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dom!Mike, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Perrentes - Freeform, Sub!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/Idea%20Turnstile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony wants more than a Dom who just pushes him around; Mike wants something more meaningful than a one night stand. For Tony, Mike is his dream come true--the perfect mix of sternness and understanding. For Mike, Tony is a mystery... A puzzle. There's something just not right about him. Mike dares to think that a person like Tony has no business calling himself a submissive at all. Some people aren't obedient — they're broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most nights, Tony thought he shouldn’t have joined the site. He’d seen other people posting in the forums meeting locals and starting relationships with them. He’d seen so many happy couples and threesomes forming that he’d started to feel optimistic. Sure, a lot of the posts were men seeking lovers for the night or something “Strictly Sexual,” but there were guys on there looking for a life partner who shared the same interests and was in on the scene.

Tony wanted that. He didn’t want to go to a bar and meet someone. He didn’t want to go out for coffee dates until the inevitable, awkward moment that he brought up the D/s culture. He didn’t want to face rejection. He didn’t want to get to know someone only to lose them when he admitted what he was into. He didn’t want faced with looks of disgust, exclamations of horror, or—the worst—the false smiles and nods of approval only to be ghosted the very moment he left his date’s side. Tony hated being abandoned like that—left without a word, not even worthy of a goodbye.

That was how he’d gotten himself to post an ad in the first place. He could skip over the awkward explanations, skip over the awkward introductions—in a few quick paragraphs he could describe who he was, what he was, and what he wanted in a partner. He left out his name, of course, and wrote that he didn’t feel comfortable showing his face though he posted some pictures of his chest and his body. He told himself it was to show off his tattoos, but deep down he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to share some part of him, prove that he was good enough for at least a little attention, or else he’d never get any serious replies.

After two days, Tony regretted everything. 

He knew he should have expected fakes—he knew he should have expected some people to message him just for the sake of bothering him—but he never imagined these people would be so cruel. They treated him as if identifying as a submissive partner made him deserving of ridicule—deserving of harsh treatment by total strangers. 

Maybe he’d been naïve, but he’d felt safe in that forum… 

He hadn’t expected to be told he was a worthless human being who should know better than to “tease” single dominants with pictures of his _ugly_ body without showing his face. Did he know that he was a toy that didn’t have a right to privacy? These strangers expected him to submit to them, even though he didn’t know them at all.

He wasn’t into _that._ There were so many layers to the culture… Why didn’t _they_ understand that? If they weren’t interested in what he wanted, why bother? Why say the hurtful things?

On the third night, he’d gotten one serious reply—or at least it seemed like one. They got to talking about their regular lives, then eased into the awkward questions. Did Tony like anything hardcore? Did he like being bound? Did he like knife play?—What about enemas?

When Tony said the questions were making him uncomfortable, he hadn’t expected to be told he had no business in the scene if he was that modest. The man he’d spent three hours talking to blocked him—ghosted him—and Tony was alone again.

Maybe he was right… Maybe Tony didn’t belong here.

But where else was he supposed to go? He wanted a romantic partner, but he wanted to be submissive. He loved it. He loved taking care of someone, being made to obey—even being objectified in that way felt like a thrill. He liked it too much to simply exist without it…

However, it was starting to look like he would have to. 

The people here either wanted slaves or they wanted to tell him he was in the wrong place. 

“Ur completely vanilla. Ur just too pussy to be a man.”

“Sure your not a little? Sounds like you are. You want some1 to call Daddy?”

So many people just wanting to classify him in their own way, none of them bothering to try to get to know him.

He wanted so badly to just deactivate his account and walk away, go back to sitting in his studio apartment all night watching _Star Wars_ on repeat because it was the only escape he had. He had this hope though, this awful, empty hope that one day someone genuine was going to message him. The right guy was out there looking for him, too. He’d be loving and stern and everything Tony had ever dreamed. He would be into bondage, but his ideas of torture didn’t include didn’t include cutting Tony open and scarring his tattoos. This guy, this dream guy, he would have tattoos himself and he’d know how to treat them… He’d want to hear about Tony’s day as well as talk about his own. Not every detail of their lives would be sex and fear and pain. 

Tony couldn’t live like that again.

But that was what he was doing, wasn’t it? Offering himself up for the exact same treatment he’d been getting from his ex.

Every day, though, Tony lost more and more faith. Maybe there just wasn’t a person out there for him. He got messages every day from interested men who rejected him within minutes of speaking.

Being shot down so many times…it literally felt like bullets in his chest.

His dream guy was probably out there, but he was with someone else. Someone who actually deserved him.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike had been single for four weeks. A whole month. And he hated every minute of it. 

His ex- had been the sexiest little devil he’d ever met in his life—and a kinky little shit too—and Mike was almost positive he’d found “the one,” until he caught “The One” in bed with “The Other Guy.” He’d had his suspicions that his boyfriend was seeing someone else their last two months together, but he’d always told himself that Stephan wouldn’t do that.

Well, Stephan did it alright, and not two days after they broke up, he and that other guy started going steady. 

Fine, Mike thought. Let that asshole buy Stephan all his expensive toys and shit. Let him drop two hundred bucks at the sex store on things Stephan would deem boring after two uses—or before they even got the chance to use them once.

While Stephan went off and wasted some other asshole’s money, Mike spent his free time on hookups. Two weeks of guilt-free, uninhibited rebound sex had really taken its toll on him, though. He didn’t like having to work to get a partner and he didn’t like having to hang his Dominance up like an old coat when his lovers for the night got pissed off about being bossed around. 

It wasn’t that he needed a mindless slave to fuck into oblivion, it was just a nice touch to tell someone how he liked it done and get it just how he asked. It didn’t _have_ to be humiliating. 

So, after a month of being on his own, Mike found himself back in the dating scene—the awful, frustrating, disappointing dating scene. After two failed dinners and drunken fuck that ended up going nowhere, Mike settled for looking online instead of in the bars. Bars were just too tempting for him anyway. The place just screamed casual sex.

At least online he could talk to the person before feeling obligated to blow money on them. 

He talked to a lot of fakes—a _lot_ of fakes—on about three different dating sites, and there were a few hopefuls in between. One guy, a vet, lived too far away for a serious relationship, but he had some really awesome tattoos that Mike would love to see shivering underneath him someday. Another guy, from the next town over, seemed genuinely interested in Mike—only he was looking for a master and Mike just didn’t take things that far. It didn’t appeal to him… Maybe for a night or two, but it took too much effort to be that consistent. 

Honestly, Mike had to admit that he was looking for someone to come home to. He was lonely, his apartment was filthy, and his bed was cold. He didn’t want a slave to boss around, he wanted a submissive—a boyfriend—who tended to him and took care of him because God knows he couldn’t take care of himself. 

He needed a guy who _liked_ doing that sort of thing and didn’t feel like he was being made to “put up with Mike’s shit.”

After striking out on all three of his usual sites, Mike dragged himself over to a forum he used to visit regularly before it turned into nothing but a hotbed for ideas that Stephan would shoot down. He was tempted to peruse the S&M boards to see what the fellow freaks were getting into, but kept himself focused and went to the classifieds. 

Lots of people were seeking hookups. Lots and lots of people wanted someone to punish them for made up transgressions and some real ones.

Then there was T-Turtle.

Was that T _space_ Turtle, or was he stuttering? It would be kind of cute to have a submissive with a stutter. 

And that was a real possibility too since he lived right in the heart of San Diego. 

Shit. That suited Mike just fine. And so did the pictures of many bright, colorful tattoos that graced the header of the posting. 

Things just got better and better the more Mike read—Drug & Disease Free, always a plus (wouldn’t have a crack head waiting for him to go to sleep in order to rob him blind), Single, Submissive. T-Turtle even made a point to say “NOT Slave” next to his status. Mike wondered if he was just adamant about the differences between slaves and submissives, or if too many masters had come sniffing around when all the Turtle wanted was a dominant.

He was twenty-four, employed, and Hispanic—Mike really liked that part.

He read all of T-Turtles post, smiled at his word choices and frowned when he saw how long ago the post had been made. 

Shit… It had been two months since he’d posted. What if some other lucky bastard snatched him up?

Scrolling down, though, Mike didn’t think that was the case. 

People were harassing the Turtle — _his_ Turtle. They made fun of his tattoos, taunted him for not showing his face, demanded he perform tasks in order to prove himself worthy of a partner. 

It made Mike angry that so many idiots couldn’t tell the difference between a submissive and a slave—and even less the difference between a classified ad and a proposition for sex. 

He doubted the man was still on the site after all the grief he’d been given, but took a chance anyway. Instead of posting beneath the ad like the others, Mike skipped the formalities and sent a private message.

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony stared at his phone after it gave a cheerful bleat from its dark corner on the dark coffee table in his dark living room.

He didn’t want to talk to anybody, he didn’t want to deal with Jaime asking him to come out tonight, but the blue notification light kept flooding the room. He couldn’t ignore it.

When he checked, the bright light of his screen hurt his eyes and he had to squint to read the message.

Another email from the site he’d been on. Another private message.

What would they want from him this time? Or would they just want to call him names again…

Tony contemplated setting his phone down and going back to staring through the dark at the silent television, but chose to open the webpage instead. 

So what if it was someone telling him he was unworthy of a Dom? It wasn’t like that was something he didn’t already know…

The subject line was “Hey Turtle,” sent by “WhiskeyHands.”

_I saw you’ve been getting a lot of shit on here. That sucks because you seem really great. I don’t know if you’re still on here or not (I wouldn’t be if people said that kind of shit to me) but if you are, I’d love to chat. My name’s Mike._

He read the message over and over again before clicking on Mike’s profile. It was pretty barren except for a few stats, his age and location and his status as a Dom. 

Tony was scared to reply, but he forced himself to answer. He gave a small greeting and asked why Mike had wanted to talk. If he was a pervert or a sadist, it would be just the nudge he needed to make him reveal his true nature and allow Tony to slip back into dark silence. 

_Wow! That was fast!_ Mike emailed back within minutes. _I wanted to get to know you better. I like your tattoos a lot. I have a bunch too. Which did you get first?_

“A turtle. You?” He knew he should say more, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to get his hopes up again. No one on this site wanted him. No one in the world did…

_The logo from an old band I was in. It’s not the greatest. I got it when I was seventeen and haven’t touched it up._ He attached a blurry photo of a heart with an X over it as well as a photo of his chest which he had decorated in ink as well. 

Tony rather liked that it was just a photo of the tattoo and not an attempt to show off his abs or his hips or his _junk._ It was tasteful. It was different. 

“What are you looking for on here?” Tony asked after about an hour of chatting had passed.

_Honestly? A boyfriend first, submissive second. I want someone who knows the scene but likes me for me. Not looking for someone to push around and control or lock up in my dungeon (don’t have a dungeon.) What are you looking for?_

Tony frowned, his stomach getting tight. 

Mike sounded too perfect. He wasn’t allowed to have someone that perfect.

“I don’t know anymore.”

_Wow. Those guys really took it out of you didn’t they?_

“What do you mean?”

_In your post you sounded really interested in finding someone. Now you’re not sure if you want someone?_

“I want someone,” Tony replied, feeling the hurt seep further into his chest. “It’s hard to find someone like me. Everyone here either wants me for a slave or wants me to disappear.”

_Well I don’t want you to disappear. I was kind of hoping you might want to go on a date with me Saturday. If you’re interested?_

“You’ve never even seen my picture,” Tony replied. That would be the kicker. This guy just wanted a photo of him… He would want to make fun of him, just like all the others. Only he was putting a lot of effort into his scheme…

Too much effort.

Tony shook his head. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just see things as they were instead of reading so much into them? 

_I don’t need to see your picture to like you. We can have some mystery._

“You don’t want to see me first?”

_I don’t want my face on this site to be honest. I don’t think you do either._

“Not really,” Tony admitted.

_So it’ll be a blind date. We’ll both wear glasses._

Tony couldn’t help but chuckle at the joke. Maybe Mike wasn’t so bad.

“Where do we meet on Saturday?”

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike had never gotten a name, but he did get T-Turtle’s phone number before their date. They texted almost constantly and Mike found himself liking this man more and more every day. By Saturday he felt like the luckiest man in the world, even before he got to lay eyes on his new friend. 

There was something…not quite right with the Turtle that set him apart from the others Mike had encountered in the scene. He wouldn’t talk about sex. He avoided it any way he could—even ignoring text messages until Mike changed the subject back to something G Rated. All Mike knew for sure was that the Turtle wasn’t a virgin, that he’d had four partners his whole life, and he didn’t like to be _hurt,_ hurt during sex. Kinky things were fine, but torture was not anything he could handle. 

That was something the Turtle had admitted with a great deal of shame, like he thought less of himself because he couldn’t withstand excessive amounts of pain or sensory deprivation. 

That had been the last time he let Mike ask him about sex.

Which was fine, Mike guessed, when he really thought about it. They didn’t know each other’s faces yet, why get up close and personal with their private lives? Maybe the Turtle had something to hide, or maybe he was just that—a turtle. Really, really fucking shy.

When he arrived at the bookstore where they were supposed to meet, Mike felt chills running up and down his arms. This was so far outside his usual comfort zone of clubs and bars—and daylight—but it wasn’t unpleasant. 

They were just meeting up for coffee and the bookstore gave them room to walk around instead of sitting awkwardly in the café chairs.

He was nervous though, because all he was seeing were White ladies and old people. Did the Turtle stand him up?

Mike lowered his sunglasses to scan the large store, looking for anyone his age in a tank top to show off his tattoos. That was how he’d dress, right? Since the only things Mike knew of him were his tattoos? 

Maybe this blind date idea had been a little misdirected. How were they supposed to meet if they didn’t even know what each other looked like?

Mike began wandering the store, peeking down aisles of romance novels, mystery novels…comic books, DVDs, CDs. Not a turtle to be found. He took his phone out of his pocket and checked his last message. 

T-Turtle: _Here! :)_

Where? Mike thought. He walked to the back corner near the erotica, still no Turtle (though he’d seriously doubted he’d find him there). Went up front by the best sellers, no Turtle. 

He’d been stood up… The shy fucking turtle stood him up.

Mike’s cheeks were burning with a furious embarrassment as he did one last lap of the store. 

That was when he finally caught sight of someone hiding over by the magazines. He had on a long sleeved shirt that covered his arms up to his wrists, but the fingers curled around the glossy pages were marked very clearly with ink. The man had gauges in his ears, black hair tucked under a red and grey snapback. He had on glasses too, thick ones with large frames.

He looked fully engrossed in his music magazine, not aware of Mike in the slightest.

Mike hadn’t a doubt in the world that the man standing there with the soft features and knuckle tattoos was his Turtle.

“Hey, Little Turtle. Want me to buy that for you before I get you some coffee?” Mike asked, hoping his confidence didn’t put the other man off—hoping this was actually his Turtle and not some stranger about to punch him in the face.

The man turned to look at him, brown eyes going wide behind clear lenses. His face looked so round and smooth, minus the gleam of a piercing under his left eye. He stared at Mike, then smiled and ducked his head bashfully. 

“Tony. M-My name’s Tony. I don’t think I ever told you that.” His voice too! All of him—everything! Mike couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to shove the Turtle into the magazine rack and kiss him until their lips were bruised or pull him into a hug and never let him free. Mike empathized a little bit with the people who wanted to keep Tony as a slave now. He didn’t want the man out of his sight either.

Tony fidgeted when Mike didn’t answer right away, the smile leaving his face quickly as he scanned his magazine. He obviously mistook Mike’s silence as a negative thing when in reality Mike was just rendered tongue-tied. 

“Wow—Sorry. I didn’t expect you to be so hot. Those assholes don’t know what they’re missing. Shit! Do I look okay?” Mike took off his sunglasses and tucked them into the hem of his shirt, smiling a little nervously himself. He knew he looked good—damned good—but that didn’t meant hearing it from someone else would hurt.

“You look great,” the Turtle said, stammering just a little. Mike could tell it was from nerves, but that didn’t change the fact that it was cute.

Tony was _cute._ Submissive, Dominant, all that shit aside, Tony was fucking cute and Mike did _not_ want to fuck this up. He’d never had a date make him this nervous before. Not even when he’d taken Stephan out for the first time.

Okay, fuck Stephan—forget Stephan. He was the past. He was gone, and good riddance. Neither he nor the Other Guy were as good looking at Tony.

“Seriously. If you want that magazine, I’ll buy it.”

Tony looked away again, smiling and letting out a sigh that sounded an awful lot like a stifled laugh. 

“No… That’s—That’s fine. I was just skimming it.” Tony made to put the magazine back on the rack, but Mike snatched it just before it slid into place.

“It’s no big deal. I’ll buy it for you.” It didn’t even occur to Mike until after he had the magazine in his hands that Tony might not even want it. 

“You don’t have to—I’ll buy your coffee then. Let me pay for your coffee so we’re even.” 

“No. I already decided I was paying for coffee,” Mike said, knowing he was starting to sound defensive when Tony licked his lips and backed off.

“Oh… When, um... When did you decide that?” Tony asked. 

“Uh, as soon as I came in here and saw you. Don’t worry. It takes a lot more than letting me buy you coffee and a magazine to get in my pants. I don’t come cheap you know…” 

They’d discussed their date at lengths before showing up. The Turtle was extraordinarily nervous to meet and cautious about how it would all play out. He said he wanted to pay for his own things so he didn’t feel indebted to Mike in any way—which of course was just code for ‘coffee won’t get you in my pants.’ Mike had been one hundred percent interested in splitting the bill (a welcome reprieve after blowing most of his paycheck on Stephan) until he walked in the store and saw Tony.

Hell, he’d spend every dollar he ever made on Tony—not even for the chance to sleep with him either, just a shot at seeing what he had hidden under those long sleeves. 

“If you’re already buying coffee I really don’t need the magazine then,” Tony said. He looked so nervous, his eyes drooping a little behind those thick frames. Mike didn’t expect the offer to make him _sad._

“I’m buying the magazine, and I’m buying coffee. And if you keep it up, I’m not going to let you pay for my dinner. I’ll buy that too.”

“We’re… We’re going to dinner?” Tony’s cheeks started to turn a soft pink.

“If things keep going this well, I can imagine I’ll wait for you to finish your drink and then tell you I’m starving and ask you to pick somewhere.”

“Oh…” That was all the Turtle said for a long time before he slowly started to nod. “So… Coffee now, though, right?”

“Right.” Mike smiled.

Tony smiled back at him.

Somehow, it was the sexiest thing Mike had seen in the past month.

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony would admit he’d been made nervous by Mike almost immediately after laying eyes on him. Not only was he attractive and tall, he just had this air of confidence around him—the sort of attitude a Dom _should_ have—and it both excited him and terrified him at the same time. It was one thing for a potential Dom to be in control of every situation, but it was another thing entirely for a potential partner to be completely indifferent to the things Tony requested.

He wanted to pay for his own coffee. He wanted that small bit of control. He wanted to make sure, at the end of the date, Mike couldn’t say, “Hey, I spent good money on you. What do I get for it?” 

Being objectified was one thing—being made to feel cheap was another. 

However, after the magazine and coffees were paid for, Tony was no longer feeling so helpless. Mike was laidback when they talked and smiled so sweetly whenever Tony would say anything. _Anything._

They discussed music as they drank their coffee—a topic they often touched upon when they texted each other. Mike had mentioned playing drums, mentioned his brother who could play guitar, and his father who had been a musician. He never mentioned over text, however, that he had a taste for rap music or that he was fairly confident he could make a name for himself as a rapper. 

That had not been something Tony expected to hear. The thought alone made him want to laugh, but he did his best to swallow down his humor. Things were going well, Mike was very attractive, and Tony did _not_ want to mess this up by laughing at his date’s aspirations. He felt so lucky just to be in his presence. He could _not_ start laughing at him.

“You don’t seem very into the idea,” Mike said, laughing a bit himself.

“Oh—It’s not that. Really. No. I-I just didn’t expect it. From looking at you I do get drummer, but rapper… Wow.”

“What, because I’m not Black?”

“No! No—No not like that. Just…” Shit. How was he supposed to say tall and lanky and _pale_ didn’t exactly translate as a rapper image to him? How was he supposed to recover from this? “Just… I think you need dreads or something to pull that off.”

“Yeah, maybe a full grill on my teeth,” Mike said, laughing to himself before taking a sip of coffee. Tony like the way his eyes curved when he smiled… He liked the way Mike’s hair poked out under his beanie. He liked everything he was seeing so, so much. “Alright, enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Little Turtle.”

“What do you want to know?” Tony asked, sipping his coffee.

“Well, you’re really fucking attractive and you seem pretty normal. Why is a guy like you on _that_ site to get a date? You could have anyone you want, so what’s your secret?”

“Secret?” 

“You have to have some pretty fucked up fetish to think you can only get a guy from that place to date you.”

“No…” Tony looked down at the table, nerves creeping up on him again. This was where he’d tell Mike he was a submissive and Mike would ask for a slave, or tell him he was actually just vanilla and was mistaken, or he’d just find some new way to cut Tony down…

“What’s the matter, Turtle?” 

“Nothing. I-I… I guess I picked that site because I knew everyone there would know about…the scene and everything. I wouldn’t have to explain what a submissive is or lose someone’s interest as soon as it comes up.”

“Makes sense to me,” Mike said. He still looked concerned, though, no doubt picking up on Tony’s sudden drop in mood. “You really don’t like the subject, do you? Anytime I bring it up, you shut down completely.” Now he sounded irritated. He had a right to be… Tony was asking for those sorts of questions by even being around that site. He knew he shouldn’t have joined. He knew he wasn’t good enough for that “perfect man” he had in his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m just used to the people on the site. I… I already know what you’re going to say.”

“No you don’t. You hardly fuckin’ know me. How the hell do you know what I’m going to say?”

“Because I’ve heard it all before. If I say I don’t like anything extreme, then I’m not really a sub. If I don’t like being called _worthless,_ then I’m not really a sub. If I—”

“Those guys are assholes! I said that to you when I talked to you the first time. You really think I’m going to be like them?”

Tony couldn’t answer him. As soon as Mike raised his voice, Tony shut down. This wasn’t how first dates were meant to go. Why couldn’t he have just shrugged off the question and kept the butterflies in his stomach from turning to knots?

“Turtle… I like you. I like that you were one of the, like, three people on that site who weren’t all ‘fuck me, fuck me, blow money on me.’ So you’re about a three on the kink scale. So what? I’m not exactly the freakiest fucker in the sack either. A little spanking, a little biting—let me pull your hair a little bit, maybe some bondage if the mood is right. I’m pretty tame. So don’t get all bent out of shape. You don’t have to be into dungeon scenes to be a sub.”

Tony looked up once or twice during the lecture, just so Mike knew he was listening. For the most part, he liked what he was hearing but he didn’t trust it. He hadn’t been good enough for anyone. Who was to say Mike didn’t just want a quick fuck and run?

“And about being called worthless—I’d _never_ say that to you. Alright? You’re really attractive, I can tell you’re smart. The very last thing you are is worthless. So whoever told you that and _meant_ it, he can go get bent. Fuck that guy. If he wasn’t smart enough to appreciate you, he didn’t deserve you.”

“What makes you think there was some guy?” Tony asked, not really wanting to dwell on the sweet words being fed to him with so much passion. 

“Because you’re single and you hate talking about anything intimate. Am I wrong to think somebody hurt you?”

“No…”

“Alright then. Just know I’m down with whatever. Okay? If you’re, like, a _one_ on the kink scale, that’s fine. I don’t care. I like _you._ We’ll figure all that other shit out later. Right?”

Tony looked up at him then, swallowing hard. Mike was looking at him intensely, then he smiled and all that tension was gone.

“So, what do you say, Turtle? I’m hungry. Think you know a place where I can get some dinner?”

Tony smiled and nodded his head, looking down at his empty coffee cup. 

“Yeah. I know a good place.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike thought for sure their date was ruined back at the bookstore. Tony couldn’t talk about _anything_ intimate without shutting down completely and trying to avoid the subject. As soon as he admitted that he didn’t want to be called _worthless_ though, that set off an alarm in the back of Mike’s mind. 

Someone had knocked him down a few pegs. Someone had made him insecure about everything. He couldn’t even identify as a submissive partner without feeling the need to justify it. Had the dinner not gone well, Mike would have probably cut his losses and cut Tony loose with the advice that he get some counseling.

But when Tony led him up the street to a food truck selling authentic tacos, Mike was almost positive he was in love. The server knew Tony by name and his order by heart. The portions were large and the price was fair, and the table in the park which Tony led him to was perfect as well. 

They talked about Mike for a long time (the attention getting Mike more than a bit hot and bothered in the San Diego sun). He had to keep digging at his shirt collar, feeling it too tightly around his throat. How Tony could sit there in long sleeves was beyond Mike’s ability to comprehend. The attention didn’t seem forced either. Tony appeared genuinely interested in everything Mike had to say and practically melted when Mike started showing off his tattoos. 

He seemed to really like those, but decline to roll up his sleeves and give Mike a peek at the ink he had going on. 

“Saving yourself for the second date, huh?” Mike asked, willing to beg for a second date if he had to.

Tony had blushed a dark shade of red and mumbled a small ‘maybe.’ He really was painfully shy. 

Not too shy for a kiss goodbye though. He let Mike walk him to his car after they’d had dinner and walked around the city for a bit. Mike wanted to hold his hand but felt it was too intimate for a first date, and probably too much PDA for shy T-Turtle. 

That kiss goodnight though…

Damn, Mike hadn’t been expecting that. All the shy smiles, all the nervous giggles, all the tugging at his long sleeves to cover his hands, had _not_ prepared Mike for a full-blown kiss on the mouth. He anticipated a dry peck on the lips, maybe a little closeness, not Tony pushing up against him with his hips and his chest.

The first kiss had been subtle, but as soon as their lips touched, Tony made it deeper. Tony was the one who opened his mouth and started to suckle Mike’s bottom lip. Tony was the one who moaned first.

Shit, Mike hadn’t even had to get Tony drunk to turn him on.

Mike almost thought he was going to be asked to come back to Tony’s apartment, only once they broke for breath the Turtle was saying his goodbyes and folding himself into his car and driving away. That wasn’t fair…

You couldn’t kiss like that and disappear. He was leaving Mike with blue balls and Mike was damned certain Tony knew it too. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

It would’ve made him mad if he didn’t love it so much. A one night stand could distract him for a few hours, but now he was going to be spending the next few days hoping to get Tony to himself again. Hopefully he’d want a lunch date sometime soon. Maybe Tuesday. He said his job was usually weekends and evenings—he’d definitely be free on Tuesday. Right? Tony couldn’t possibly make him wait a week or more to see him again. That’d just be cruel.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony didn’t know what was happening to him. The date with Mike, minus the serious conversation they’d stumbled into, had gone so well. So why did he collapse when he got home? Why did his legs give out and leave him on the floor next to the couch as if he’d suffered some great defeat?—Endured some heavy excursion which robbed him of all his strength? 

Even though they’d really just met, Tony could hear Mike’s response to the situation in his head. “Are you saying I make you weak in the knees, Little Turtle?”

Something like that. He had a sense of humor—he was genuine and positive and _perfect._

They’d only gone on one date, but Tony already had his voice memorized. That dream person he’d been imagining—that was _Mike._ Every bit of him. His look, his attitude, the way he spoke… Tony realized that had to be it. That had to be the problem. He’d been met with everything he ever wanted and he didn’t think he could handle it. The pressure was too great.

There was too much at stake here. If Tony rushed in like he was wanting to, if Mike would even entertain the idea of going on another date or going steady, he was only going to push Mike away. Or Mike would find out all about him and leave. 

Tony hated to be left behind—to be forgotten about. 

He wanted to pull himself up on to his couch, he wanted to get off the ground and stop feeling so pathetic, but his body felt so heavy. What did it matter? Couch or floor?

He laid there maybe ten or fifteen minutes before he heard his phone chirp from his back pocket. It was a text message from Mike, asking if he’d gotten home alright. 

The simple message was enough to make Tony’s heart flutter. 

_Hey Little Turtle. You get home safe?_

Tony replied with a quick, “Yes. You?”

_Well after I caught my breath I did. Wow. Anyone tell you you’re a great kisser?_

Tony finally pulled himself up into a sitting position, smiling at his phone a little in the dark. He was still thinking up a reply when another text message came through. 

_When do I get to see you again? You work tomorrow?_

“Tomorrow night.”

_Damn. I work 9 to 3._

“Four to ten,” Tony replied.

_Fuuuuuck. What about after work?_

“I don’t like to go out that late,” Tony answered, biting his lip nervously as he waited for a reply. Guys who wanted to meet late wanted to get laid and nothing else. Tony was starting to get anxious that that was what Mike wanted too. Tony knew better than to kiss him like… It gave him the wrong idea. 

_Yea you didn’t strike me as a bar fly. What about Tuesday? Lunch on Tuesday?_

“I open Tuesday.”

_What time are you off??_

“Two.”

_I don’t work Tuesday. Can the Turtle come out of his shell for lunch on Tuesday?_

Tony hesitated, his mind throwing out a few more awful opinions on what Mike truly wanted him for, then typed his answer.

“Yes.”

Mike sent a row of smiling emojis followed by a brief _I’m excited._

“For lunch?” Tony asked, hoping that if this were all some elaborate ruse to get in his pants, Mike might break cover and say it.

_To see you again! I really like you Tony. You’re so different than the other guys I’ve seen lately._

“How am I different?” Tony asked, making his way up onto the couch. He was starting to feel hope rise in his chest and he was desperate to push it down, keep it in check. It was too soon to start thinking about a future together.

_You’re not a whore. That’s always nice. And you don’t want to spend all my money. You asked about me a lot and I’m a narcissist so I liked it. Umm… Do I need to go on?_

“You didn’t mention my tattoos,” Tony said, not sure if he was trying to get Mike to admit to wanting his body and nothing else or if he was fishing for compliments.

_OK. No. You know what? No! You go and post pictures of all your tattoos on that ad and get me going. Then I meet you and you’re wearing long sleeves hiding them all! That was NOT cool!_

“I’m sorry?” Tony replied, feeling hurt despite himself. He didn’t think much of it when he picked the long sleeves. He just felt more comfortable that way, hidden in public. He hadn’t meant for Mike to see it as a bait and switch.

_Fucking. Little. Turtle. I’m going to get you out of that shell one of these days. Why are you so shy???_

Tony didn’t know how to answer, not sure if Mike was angry at him or teasing him. 

“I just felt like wearing long sleeves. It’s cold in my apartment.”

_Right ;) OK Turtle. Make me work for it. I see how it is._

“I’m not playing hard to get. I like to be comfortable.”

_I never said you were playing anything Little Turtle. I thought we had a good time today. I was teasing you. Don’t get mad at me ):_

Tony felt his spirits sink. He was ruining this, wasn’t he? Mike was nice, he reminded himself. Mike didn’t try to touch him or grab him and Tony had been the one to make their kiss goodbye so intimate. Mike had a sense of humor. Tony needed to remember that. He hardly said anything in a serious tone. 

“I’m not mad. I don’t want you to think I’m up for casual sex either. I don’t want treated like that.”

_I never said you were. When have I ever treated you that way? When I was flirting? That’s what flirting is about Little Turtle. Doesn’t mean that’s all I want you for. I told you that’s why I like you._

Now Tony just felt stupid. He didn’t deserve a person like Mike. He wasn’t _ready_ to start dating again, he guessed. He thought he was, he thought he was lonely enough to act right when a decent person entered his life, but apparently he was wrong. He was always going to be this paranoid and distant. Wasn’t he?

_What’s the matter Little Turtle? Something’s got you all bent out of shape._

Tony was letting it get too dark. He was going to drive Mike away if he stayed like this. As much as he wanted to spare himself the pain and just let it all go now, he didn’t want to waste Mike’s time like that. He liked him—he liked Mike very much. He didn’t want to let go.

“It’s not Tuesday.”

_Oh? Doesn’t sound like you’re very excited to meet on Tuesday to me._

In place of trying to explain, in place of admitting that he was practically sick with nerves already, Tony sent three identical emojis and set his phone aside. 

He needed a shower, then he wanted a drink, and then he was going to bed.

( ) ( ) ( )

“So how was your date?” Came Vic’s unenthusiastic voice from down the line. He was never involved in Mike’s personal life, not really, but he’d been around a lot more since things had turned sour with Stephan. Maybe he was worried. Maybe he was lonely too. Mike didn’t know and he wouldn’t ask.

“Fuckin’ weird,” Mike said, admitting it to himself for the first time how _off_ Tony was. He should expect it though. No one _normal_ looked for a partner online.

“Weird? How?—Did he throw up on you like that one guy?”

“No. We didn’t get drinks or anything.”

“Wow. That is weird. I thought you only hooked up with club trash and ravers.”

“Well, he’s not much for drinking,” Mike said, holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder while opening the refrigerator to get a beer. He needed a drink to help him stop overthinking every word Tony said. In person he was so sweet and cheerful, then as soon as he was alone he got…depressing. It had never been like that before.

“Is that why he’s weird?”

“No… I just don’t know what to make of him. He’s really shy.”

“Doesn’t sound like the right kind of person for you then,” Vic said, his tone saying more than his words did.

“He’s into the scene and everything, he’s just…I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Mike groaned in frustration, trying to open his beer but unable to get the cap to twist off like it was supposed to. 

“Well what did he do?”

“I told you. He’s really shy. He’s a fuckin’ turtle.” Slamming the beer down on the counter, Mike grabbed a second bottle from the fridge, hoping it might open with more ease. It put up the same fight as the one before.

“I’m sorry, he’s what?”

“A turtle! He’s really shy and if you say the wrong thing, he closes himself off until you sweet talk him out of his shell again.”

“I don’t see this lasting long… You’re not seeing him again are you?”

“Yeah. Tuesday.” Mike didn’t care at all for Vic’s disapproving tone. Tony was shy. So what? Introductions were always awkward, especially if you’re questioning the other party’s intentions the whole time.

“Why?”

“Because I asked him to. He’s attractive, he’s smart, he’s just _shy as hell.”_ Mike set his second beer down and grabbed for a third. What was _wrong_ with this six pack!?

“What’s he shy about?”

“Everything. I think he thinks I’m trying to get in his pants.” None of them. None of the bottles would open. Sure, they’d been in there since Stephan had left, but they shouldn’t have glued themselves shut in his absence! 

Unless Stephan _did_ glue them shut. That son of a bitch.

“Well… Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, in the _long run._ Right now I just want to know what’s going on in that head of his. He kissed me real hard at the end of our date like he wanted something, then ran off home and got all pissy when I teased him for wearing long sleeves on our date.”

“Wait… What? What are you talking about? He kissed you?”

“Yeah.”

“So you decide the best thing to do is pick on him for how he dressed? He’s not _shy,_ he thinks you’re an asshole.”

“I didn’t pick on him! He posted his ad and was all ‘look at my hot tattoos,’ then we go out and he’s got them all covered up like he’s self-conscious about them. Makes me wonder if it was even his picture.”

“Wait… Where did you meet this guy?”

“Online,” Mike said, glaring at the six bottles of beer on his counter that refused to be opened. 

“Online… _Mike.”_

“What? He posted an ad, I answered it. Other than being a fucking turtle, he seems normal.”

“Well… Well, what if he’s just nervous? You never know what you’re walking into when you meet someone online. Maybe he had a bunch of bad dates and that’s why he shut down.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. He’s weird. We were talking about it, then he changed the subject, sent me a bunch of turtle emojis and hasn’t texted me back since.”

“Have you tried calling him?”

“I’m not going to push it,” Mike said, putting his stubborn beers back in the fridge. “I’ll just wait for Tuesday and see if he backs out.”

“Do you think he will?”

“I don’t know. He seemed really interested in me…until he got home.”

“He’s probably just nervous. The second date is when most people get grabby. He’s probably still scared you want in his pants.”

“I told him I’m willing to take things slow. I don’t know what his problem is.”

“How many times do you think someone’s told him that only to do the exact opposite? Guys are assholes.”

“Yeah…” Mike thought back to the messages Tony had been getting on that forum. A lot of assholes with a lot of opinions about him. It only made sense that he’d meet a few of them in real life who would put him down as well. “I’ll see how things go Tuesday. I really hope that’s all it is. I can show him I’m not just out to get in his pants. He seems like a really…really good guy.”

Mike couldn’t help but think of the way Tony had looked the first time he laid eyes on him, standing by the magazine rack—tattooed fingers curling around those glossy pages, black frames around his big, brown eyes. Mike could be patient for him. Mike would be patient for him.

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony was shaking as he hurried up the street toward the restaurant where Mike wanted them to meet. He’d decided to go home to change after work, believing he’d have enough time to get home and to the restaurant. He’d been wrong—very wrong—and texted Mike telling him he’d be late.

Mike’s answer?

_Oh. I really hate being kept waiting._

Tony had sat in his car at his apartment shaking for about five more minutes before deciding to take the plunge and drive to the restaurant anyway. They weren’t in a relationship yet, he told himself. It didn’t matter that Mike was a Dom and he was submissive. They weren’t together yet so there wouldn’t be any punishment for running behind. 

Telling himself that did nothing to fight the knots in his stomach. He wanted to throw up but knew ducking into the bathroom and puking just before a date was probably the worst thing he could do. It would be better if he didn’t show up at all.

He was still shaking when he got into the restaurant, his face covered in a sheen of nervous sweat. 

“Can I help you?” The waitress asked, a thick accent in her voice. She looked like she was afraid of him—a tall guy with tattoos all over and gauges. 

“Um… Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m supposed to meet someone,” Tony said, panting heavily. It wasn’t a fancy, sit-down place, but even so he’d hoped Mike might tell the hostess he was waiting for someone to join him so Tony wouldn’t have to walk around the dining room alone looking for him. If Mike did leave already…

“Oh! You’re here for Mike?”

“Mike?—Yeah. Mike.”

Suddenly the waitress was smiling at him like she knew something he didn’t.

“Right this way. Tony?” She kept smiling at him as she grabbed up a menu and a roll of silverware.

“Yeah… You know Mike?” He asked, swallowing hard.

“He comes here all the time. Always causes trouble.” She showed him to a table around the corner where Mike was sitting, his sunglasses over his eyes and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked angry.

He looked _angry._

Once again Tony felt the impulse to vomit. This time it was so strong he’d turned around to look for the bathroom. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t ready for another relationship like this again. He’d just wanted to change out of his work polo. He didn’t think to put a change of clothes in his car for after work—he hadn’t thought about it. 

The hostess asked him what was wrong and Tony shook his head, following her to his seat with his head down.

“Refill on your tea?” She asked Mike who nodded. 

“Can you get one for him? You drink tea, right, Turtle?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, keeping his head down. His heart was beating so hard. All he wanted was water. Plain water.

“Or some water? You look a little dehydrated, Turtle. What did you do? Run all the way here?”

“Had to…to park up the street. I didn’t want to leave you waiting.”

“Bring him some tea and an ice water,” Mike said to the hostess who nodded and walked away. “You know I was just fucking around, right? You didn’t need to worry. I know you just got off work.”

All Tony could do was nod. If that were the case, why did he look so angry? Why had he looked so _angry?_

Mike took off his sunglasses and put them on his shirt collar again, just as he had on Saturday. His eyes looked soft, his features kind. Tony was so confused…

“Um… I went home to change,” Tony stammered, gesturing to his light grey tank top.

“Yeah, I like it. I can finally see those tattoos,” Mike said, smiling. “You didn’t have to, though. I was just fucking around then, too. I don’t care what you’re wearing.”

His smile put Tony at ease and he calmed down even more after his drink came to the table. He finished the water in no time at all, then slowly sipped his tea while looking over the menu. 

“Their fish tacos are really good, if you want to try those. I don’t know what you like,” Mike said. He already knew what he wanted to order, being a regular of the restaurant. “The soft shell crab is good too.”

“It’s expensive though,” Tony said, not looking up from the menu. 

“I can afford it. If you want it.”

“I’m thinking the seafood pasta… If that’s okay?” Tony looked up then, feeling a little meek under Mike’s gaze. 

“Yeah—Sure. Get whatever you want. You like shrimp?”

Tony nodded and looked over the menu again, looking for something cheaper. Mike didn’t seem the type, but Tony was still afraid he’d start acting entitled. It was the second date after all… He had to expect something, especially after Tony had kissed him like that the last time they were together. 

“I might just get the fish tacos,” Tony said. “They sound good.”

“I thought you were getting the pasta.”

“I was…but tacos sound better.”

“Alright. Then I’ll get the seafood pasta and we can share.”

“You don’t have to do that! I-If you want me to get the pasta, I will.” Tony bit his lip after the words came out. Mike was looking at him in a strange way—an analytical way. This was Mike. Not Jose, _Mike._ He didn’t have to take all of Mike’s suggestions; not yet anyway. Mike was a Dom, but he wasn’t _his_ Dom. 

“Relax, Little Turtle. I just want you to be happy. Get whatever you’d like—but stop looking at what’s cheapest. I make good money. It’s insulting if you don’t think I can afford it.”

Tony lowered his head again and looked over the menu. He felt so cornered now. Nothing sounded good when he was this anxious.

“Turtle?”

“I-I’m looking,” Tony said, his leg starting to shake under the table.

“Turtle, look at me.”

Tony sighed and glanced up from the menu. He didn’t know how to act around Mike and he was scared that insecurity was going to be what ended them before it could even begin.

“It’s just lunch, Tony. I’m not the kind of person who’s going to control what you eat or what you wear—unless you _want_ me to. And we’re not even to that point yet so please, just order whatever you’d like. If you want the tacos, order the tacos. If you want something else, go for it. I’m not scary. I promise I’m not out to hurt you.”

“I know… I’m sorry. I’m making everything difficult. I was late, I-I don’t know what I want… I feel kind of sick, so I’m not that hungry.”

“Sick? What’s the matter? You didn’t have to come out if you weren’t feeling good.”

“I… It’s… I felt bad for being late, but I wanted to go home and change because I know you wanted to see my tattoos and my work polo hides them. I should’ve had a change of clothes in my car. I didn’t think about it.”

“Tony, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine. It’s okay. I don’t mind that you went home to change; I don’t care that you were late. I just wanted to see you again. That’s all. Would you rather skip dinner and go someplace else? We can get some smoothies up the street and go walk on the pier or something.”

“No. I-I should eat something. I haven’t eaten all day. I just…I get anxious, I guess, meeting new people. It’s a little scary for me—”

“It’s scary for me, too, Tony. I don’t like feeling judged either, but I don’t let it turn me into a nervous wreck. What are you so scared of?”

Tony stared at him, biting his lip nervously. He had ruined both of their dates now by getting self-conscious. This was probably the last time he was ever going to see Mike and that was devastating… Tony couldn’t think of a single thing to say to make it better.

“Do you want to get lunch or not?” Mike asked, his once friendly eyes turning cold.

_Say no,_ Tony thought. _End this thing before it gets any worse._

“Mike, I’m sorry,” Tony said instead. “I haven’t dated in a long time. I get nervous. I don’t mean anything by it, I just can’t remember how to act. I-I hardly even go out with friends anymore.”

“How long ago was your last date?” Mike asked, cutting Tony short. 

“I-I don’t know. A long time.” Four years ago, Tony thought. Four years ago when he’d started seeing Jose. Jose who had been kind. Jose who had been genuine until Tony messed things up between them and he turned rotten and cruel. 

“You don’t know?”

“A-A while. I broke up with my ex- eight months ago… No, nine months ago. You’re… You’re the first person I’ve gone out with.”

“So I’m your rebound then?”

“No! I’m really not like that. Please—Please don’t think of me like that. I’m trying really hard—”

“Can I ask you something? Up front? If you don’t want to answer that’s fine, but I need to ask.”

“What?” Tony asked.

“Your ex-boyfriend… Did he do something to you? Something to make you this…this nervous? Or were you always this way? I just want to know what I’m walking into. If he, like, hurt you or something, or did something bad, I want to know. I don’t need details or anything. I just want to make sure I don’t overstep your boundaries or do something that, you know, triggers you or anything. I wouldn’t ask,” Mike added after a brief pause, “but you seem really nervous around me and dating in general. It makes me feel like something bad happened. You know, besides those assholes online.”

Tony bit his lip, trying to decide what to say—or if he should say anything at all. Was it really that obvious?

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony had looked like he was about to say something, really say something, and then the waitress came over for their orders. Without missing a beat, Tony had ordered the soft shell crab and another tea—sweetened this time—and Mike was left a little bit speechless as he ordered himself the fish tacos. He decided to let the conversation go, it was too heavy for a second date anyway, but it came up again later that night when they went out together for drinks.

So much for not going out after dark, Mike had thought when their lunch date bled on into a walk on the beach, then dinner. Now, seated at the bar, Tony was two beers and two whiskey cocktails in and spilling his guts about some asshole named Jose.

Mike didn’t often care to hear stories about ex-boyfriends, but he figured that since he’d been the one to bring it up over lunch, Tony had a right to speak about it. To be honest, Mike didn’t mind once he’d started either because it wasn’t the typical ‘he fucked me over and let me tell you how’ spiel. This guy had seriously hurt him and Tony didn’t seem to fucking notice. 

“He’d get mad a lot. That was why I left him… I’d break rules all the time that I didn’t know were rules. Like, it was fun at first, but he just got mean about it. I wasn’t into the scene enough for him I guess. I’m a two on the kink scale, I guess. Like you said. It wasn’t really his fault. It was my fault… That’s why I got so scared when I was late today. I kept telling myself, you know, ‘it’s okay. You’re not dating. He can’t punish you,’ but I kept freaking out. I get scared over stupid shit like that all the time. That’s why I went home to change, too, you know? I thought, ‘fuck, he hated my long sleeves. He’s going to be pissed about this polo.’ I didn’t want to make you mad.” He would ramble like that for a long time, then take another drink and apologize.

Mike was glad to let him talk though. The whole day he’d listened to Mike yammer on about his job and Vic and his parents, he’d asked a lot of questions and responded to the answers. Mike could _tell_ the Turtle was interested in him and not just playing along, not just looking for a rebound to start him up again. Now he’d finally gotten his Little Turtle talking and he would be damned if he tried to stop him now. 

“I really like you, Mike,” Tony said, turning around on his bar stool to face Mike directly. He looked drunk first and foremost, but he also looked very lonely sitting there. Mike didn’t want to say he looked desperate, but whenever Mike would move in his seat, Tony flinched and asked where he was going—like he thought Mike was going to just leave him there. “I _really_ like you, Mike,” Tony repeated when Mike failed to answer.

He’d had a fair bit to drink as well, so it caught him off guard when Tony leaned over and kissed him. He didn’t know what part of the sad story had turned romantic, but he wasn’t about to say no to one of the Turtle’s kisses. That was one of the best parts of him, the way he showed neediness and interest without ever having to speak a word. 

He put his hand on the back of Mike’s neck as if to brace himself as he worked their mouths together, parting his lips right away and sighing when Mike slipped his tongue inside. His mouth tasted like whiskey, sour from the lemon juice yet still so sweet. 

His first thought was that he shouldn’t have let Tony get this drunk. His second thought was to curse himself for letting him get this drunk in public instead of back at his apartment. He wouldn’t try for sex, not this soon—not with the shy Turtle anyway—but a hard make out session and a little heavy petting would suit him fine right now. 

As it was, all he could do was suck on Tony’s tongue and nip on his bottom lip until he had the other man keening under his touch. That was when Tony broke away, panting for breath with his hand on Mike’s chest—fingers bunched up in his shirt—and said, “I want to go home.”

“You… You want to go home? You’re not…not feeling good again?” Mike asked, so taken aback by it. They’d been doing so well. What did he mean he wanted to go home!?

“With _you._ I want to go home with _you._ Where do you live? I’ll come visit.” He laughed then, a drunken giggle as he pushed his face under Mike’s chin. 

The bartender was eyeing them with interest and amusement and winked when she noticed Mike watching her. 

He told Tony he was going to pry him out of his shell eventually—he just didn’t expect it to be on the second date and with alcohol. 

“You don’t want me to take you back to my place,” Mike said, gesturing for the bartender to close their tab. Tony was paying for drinks, but Mike had a feeling he was going to be the one signing the receipt on his behalf. 

“I do though,” Tony whined, kissing Mike’s neck in _just_ the right place. Fuck this was hard to resist. 

“No. You want me to take you back to your place. How about I walk you home now?”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Tony whined, leaning away when Mike pushed him back. 

“Yes you do. You want to sleep in your own bed and change into some fresh clothes—”

“I _don’t,_ Mike. My apartment is so empty. Let’s go to your place—I’ll do your laundry.”

“You’ll do my laundry? Man, you are drunk. Let’s get you home.” Mike leaned over the counter to do his best impression at Tony’s signature on the receipt, leaving a generous tip for the bartender.

“I’ll—I’ll do dishes or something. Can I come over?”

“Let me take you home,” Mike repeated, standing up and pulling Tony along with him. Tony protested a little, but once they were outside on the street, Mike backed him up against the wall of the bar and kissed him. Tony didn’t miss a beat kissing back. He moaned this time, too, and pressed his body forward against Mike’s. Any doubts Mike had had about Tony’s physical interest in him were gone by that point. There was more than a small spark of passion between them and Mike felt absolutely drunk off the attention. 

He felt like he’d earned this somehow, like Tony’s interest in him was a prize he’d somehow won. Tony didn’t like being out after dark and wouldn’t dream of casual sex with a virtual stranger, but he was sure as hell grinding up against Mike’s thigh now. 

Mike absolutely hated that he wasn’t drunk enough to take advantage of the opportunity.

“Let me take you home, Little Turtle.”

“No—Mike, let’s go to your place. I don’t want to go home yet. Please?” He kissed Mike on the lips again after asking, knowing Mike couldn’t say no after that. 

“You’d better tell me where you live, Babe. We don’t want to do something you’re just going to regret in the morning.”

“Mike… I want to go where you live. I don’t want to go to my place. It’s so _empty._ I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay, but I work in the morning.”

“I’ll let you sleep. I-I just… I want to go where you go. Don’t you want me?” Tony kissed him again, once on the lips and then on the neck. Mike tried to push him back, get some room to breathe, but Tony let out a noise that was too damned close to a whimper for him to follow through. 

He was drunk. He was lonely. The least Mike could do was take him home and keep an eye on him until he sobered up enough to sleep.

“Okay, Little Turtle. But just for tonight. Come on.” Mike put an arm around Tony’s shoulders and kissed the side of his head before leading him down the street. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony awoke to someone shaking him by his shoulder; he also awoke shirtless and with only his red boxer briefs on—no memory of when his clothes had come off or what he’d done once they were. He gasped and drew back from the hands on him, frightened for a moment, until he looked up and met gazes with Mike. 

“Hey. I know it’s early, but you’ve gotta get ready to leave soon. As much as I want to keep you tied up in my bed, I have to go to work and I can’t leave you here.” Mike smiled somewhat sympathetically, but Tony was frozen—stuck staring at him and afraid to move.

He couldn’t remember anything they’d gotten into last night. He remembered their date, remembered going to dinner… They went to a bar then, didn’t they? Oh, God, and he’d talked about Jose, hadn’t he?

Tony bowed his head and shifted his legs, slowly drawing himself up into a sitting position. He anticipated pain—a sharp sting or at least a dull aching—but none came. The only thing hurting was his head.

“I know how it looks but, trust me, nothing happened. I put you to bed on the couch and woke up with you in bed with me this morning. Whatever happened in that span of time was all you, Little Turtle.” 

Tony felt his cheeks start burning as he stared down at Mike’s bedsheets. They were plain—a light blue—but smelled fresh when Tony pulled the blankets up to his chest. There were no stains, no filth, no evidence that anything else had transpired.

“Are you seriously trying to hide right now?” Mike asked, chuckling as he leaned down over the bed in order to kiss Tony on the cheek. “Turtle, I already looked at all your tattoos when you were sleeping. You can’t hide them from me.”

“Sorry. Do you… Do you know where my clothes are?”

“Uh… I’m going to assume they’re on the couch where you left them.”

“Can… Can you—”

“Yeah, I’ll go look. I have to take a shower before I leave, so you don’t need to hurry or anything. I just thought I’d wake you up in case you wanted coffee or something.” Mike continued talking as he walked into the other room and returned moments later with a lump of Tony’s clothing. “You had a hat on when you got here, but I honestly can’t tell you where it is.”

Tony didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded as he accepted the clothes as Mike handed them to him.

“Okay… So… Yeah, I’m going to shower. Coffee’s in the…the, yeah, on the counter.”

He was being avoidant, Tony noticed, but he really couldn’t blame him. The more Tony thought, the more things came back to him. Like bringing Mike beers as they sat on the couch—and continuing to bring bottle after bottle even when Mike asked him to stop. 

“Now who’s trying to take advantage of who, Little Turtle!?” Mike had snapped right before grabbing Tony by the face and kissing him. 

That explained why his lips felt so sore…

Tony sat in the bed cradling his clothes as he watched Mike walk away. He felt frightened in a way he couldn’t describe. He never liked to be alone, but now it felt more pressing than ever to be where Mike was—wherever that may be. 

He’d managed to worm his way into Mike’s apartment last night because he wanted to avoid feeling lonely, then into his bed when Mike was asleep and couldn’t tell him no. Now he was thinking of invading his shower. He knew a way to make it worth Mike’s while and, surprisingly, he didn’t feel sick at himself for having the thought. 

The night before he’d made a fool of himself trying for exactly what was in his mind now. He’d tried winning Mike over by cleaning up areas of his apartment and doing chores—he’d tried to show obedience by bringing drinks Mike hadn’t asked for. 

When the shower clicked on in the bathroom, Tony remembered something else from the night before. He remembered crawling into bed with Mike, remembered kissing him and waking him until Mike asked him to stop and rolled away. 

He’d made such a fool of himself. 

Why hadn’t he listened at the bar and let Mike take him home? He would’ve gone to bed then and would’ve woken up alone—without being a burden to Mike.

He _should_ go home now and spare Mike anymore trouble.

Should.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike laughed to himself as his mind played over the night before. That fucking Little Turtle… He’d finally come out of his shell and Mike loved every second of it, even being woken up in the middle of the night to unwanted kisses on his neck. If only he could get Tony like that without him being shit-faced drunk. Despite the drunkenness, Mike could tell already that Tony was going to be the perfect for submissive for him. Maybe it was optimism or naivety or pure ignorance, but something about the way Tony had invaded his apartment and began cleaning it up and serving him stirred something in Mike’s chest. 

It wasn’t a power trip for once or a cheap ego boost. 

Without doing anything other than being himself, he’d managed to get someone as attractive and smart as Tony to _want_ him, to care about him. If Tony didn’t care, why else would he have started cleaning? Why else would he have figured out a way to open those damned beer bottles that Mike couldn’t get to open? 

Mike was still smiling to himself like a madman when he heard his bathroom door creak open.

“You need something?” Mike called out. Tony probably needed to take a piss considering how much he’d had to drink last night—on top of the water Mike had forced him to consume as well to keep him from being too hungover. 

When Tony didn’t answer, Mike stepped forward toward the edge of the curtain, reaching to pull it back in order to peek out. Before he could, the curtain rippled and the next thing he knew, Tony was standing before him in the tub, under the stream of hot water. Ripples of clear water poured down his shoulders, distorted the shapes and shades of his many, many tattoos—including the damaged one on his chest, the one which puckered around dark scars. Mike had noticed it that morning when he’d woken up. Four lines cut apart that tattoo, jagged as if Tony had fought, ink missing and faded around the damaged skin.

Deliberate. Someone had deliberately ruined what should have been his best piece.

Mike wanted to ask him what happened, but doubted now was the time. He just let his eyes follow that stream of water lower and lower, watching the way it wrapped around the curve of his thighs, dripped down his half-hard cock… 

He swallowed hard and looked back up, a little confused but also very, very hopeful. He wanted to say something, tell Tony to do something besides stand there, but it wasn’t time yet. 

Boyfriend first, he reminded himself; submissive second. That was what he’d wanted. Let Tony have the control to make the first move. If he trusted Mike enough, he’d tell him to take over instead. Either way, Mike was excited for what was happening. 

Tony was looking him over, too. His eyes were down, staring at Mike’s package in a way that almost made him uncomfortable—he didn’t like being the one scrutinized, but couldn’t get the words out of his throat to distract from the feeling. He wanted to say something along the lines of “Like what you see, Little Turtle?” but as soon as he started to pen his mouth, Tony closed the distance between them—rushing forward and joining their lips together. 

He could feel Tony’s length pressing into his hip, could feel its heat against his own cock. It was unfair how bad he wanted Tony right now—he wanted him up against the wall, wanted to watch the water cascade down his back, wanted to fuck him into the white tiles hard and fast. He wanted to hear all the sounds Tony would make for him, wanted to listen to Tony beg to come and tell him wasn’t allowed—that he hadn’t earned it yet, just to hear him plea even more.

But he was going to have to wait. He had to let Tony come to him first, let him test out his own boundaries and decide how far he was willing to go on what was technically still their second date. 

Tony started kissing his neck and under his chin, moaning a little in the back of his throat when Mike grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. Tony had his arms around Mike’s shoulders, open palms squeezing his shoulder blades—holding tight then letting go, over and over. 

Mike pressed a kiss onto the top of Tony’s head, then nuzzled him and nudged him until he could get a kiss on the mouth again. Tony’s hips bucked forward a little as their tongues swirled together, showing his eagerness in every way he knew how. 

Mike broke the kiss first and moved his lips down to Tony’s neck, biting it before sucking on his pulse. Tony gasped, then moaned and started shaking as his hips rolled against Mike’s. One of Mike’s hands trailed from Tony’s hip to the back of his thigh, gripping it firmly before pulling—spreading his cheeks apart. Maybe if he was lucky, Tony would let him fit a finger or two inside.

Only Tony had moaned then, loud, and tipped his head back with pleasure.

What was it he’d said on their date? That he hadn’t had a date in over nine months? No one had touched him over nine months. Mike felt more than a little bit honored, like he’d won some achievement or prize, even when Tony shook his head and buried his forehead in Mike’s neck.

Mike released his grip on Tony’s thigh and placed his hand on his hip again, swirling his thumb over the peak of his hipbone. 

“Do you want me to make you feel good, Little Turtle?” Mike asked, kissing Tony’s ear after he spoke. It almost broke his heart when Tony shook his head no.

That was, until, Tony was suddenly on his knees in front of him, staring up with those big, brown eyes. His lips were parted, swollen, and slick with spit and water. 

Mike swore he’d never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. 

Then Tony leaned forward and one hand wrapped around the base of Mike’s cock before his lips closed around the head. He started moving his hand right away but it seemed to take an eternity before he remembered how to use his mouth. Mike had to tangle his fingers in a few thick locks of Tony’s hair and pull in order to get him to start sucking.

It was hard not just thrust into him. Stephan could’ve taken it no problem, but Tony seemed to tense whenever Mike’s hips would even slightly twitch. Stay still was proving difficult, though, especially when Tony looked up at him—staring like he wanted something but unable to ask with his mouth stuffed full and his lips stretched around Mike’s cock. 

What was it he wanted? Praise? Requests? _Force?_

Mike tugged gently on Tony’s hair again, pulling him forward. Immediately in response, Tony moaned and took Mike a few inches deeper into his throat. He tried to pull back, but Mike held his head still a moment, trying to relish as much of the wet heat as he could until Tony gagged around him. He loosened his grip completely, expecting Tony to yank away from him, but Tony only pulled back a little before swallowing around the head of Mike’s cock—still pumping his hand up and down the length he couldn’t fit. 

Mike moaned out small praises and was rewarded with Tony deep-throating him once again, gagging as he had before but not stopping. He was trying so hard to be good, constantly looking up at Mike for approval then letting his eyes slip closed after he’d gotten his fill of kind words.

He started bobbing his head up and down more quickly, moaning a little and sending the vibrations down Mike’s cock. Not once in the entire time did he pull off to take a breath—he never let Mike fall from his lips or even come close.

Still so well trained despite being long out of practice. Mike was excited to see what else Tony had in his repertoire. 

With one hand still pumping the base of Mike’s length, Tony used his other to stroke himself. Every now and then he would shudder and his hands would both stop, then he’d pick up again where he left off—usually swallowing around Mike’s cock as he did, as if to make up for pausing. 

Mike was in awe of him, quivering in the waves of pleasure as felt Tony’s tongue working on his glans and the vein on the underside of his cock. He was getting closer to the edge, his head tipping back in pleasure as he tightened his hold on Tony’s hair. When he pulled it, Tony would give a moan and take Mike deeper into his throat—then he’d open his eyes and stare up at Mike with a gaze full of lust until he got the praise he needed to keep going.

Once Tony picked up on the fact that Mike was almost at the peak, it was as if he tripled his efforts. He started making all sorts of sounds—choked off little moans and sighs Mike never expected he’d hear from the shy Little Turtle—then stopped stroking himself in order to grab Mike’s hand in his hair and squeeze it tighter, making Mike grip him harder.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Mike asked, gripping Tony’s hair nearly as hard as he could. He watched the twinge of pain cross Tony’s face, then watched the pleasure ripple through his eyes once they opened. “You like when I pull your hair?”

Tony’s only response was a moan which grew shrill when Mike yanked his hair again, jerking him forward in order to thrust into his mouth. He felt his cock ramming into the back of Tony’s throat and felt a twinge of guilt when Tony gagged, but that faded quickly once his Turtle had recovered. Tony stared up at him with those brown eyes turned nearly black with lust. 

He took his hand away from Mike’s and started stroking himself again, fast. The sight of him like that, bobbing his head up and down on Mike’s cock while pleasuring himself, it flooded Mike’s brain like a drug. He felt like he’d die if he never got a shot at this again. 

Tony deep-throated him one last time, gagging before swallowing hard around Mike’s length, and that was all it took for Mike to finish. He thought to let go of Tony’s hair, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was clean—he knew he didn’t have anything—so Tony would do to be a good boy and swallow. 

And how good he was. 

He held still, the hand that had been gripping Mike’s cock now squeezing his thigh desperately. The hand he’d had stroking himself had gone still, but he was still so hard and leaking over his inked fingers. 

As soon as Mike released him, Tony pulled back and coughed—shaking a little before lifting his chin to stare up at Mike.

“You are so perfect,” Mike said, taking his fingers from Tony’s hair in order to stroke his cheek, then his swollen bottom lip. “Has anyone ever told you that?” It almost broke his heart when Tony stared at him and shook his head no before lowering his gaze and beginning to touch himself again. 

He crawled forward on the shower floor in order to press his face against Mike’s inner thigh, hiding himself completely from Mike’s view. The only way Mike knew he’d finished was by the sound, a soft cry that barely separated itself from the noise of the shower—it was almost as if he didn’t want Mike to notice.

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony stood on the sidewalk outside of Mike’s apartment building. His phone was dead, he didn’t have his car, and he had no idea where he was. He would’ve called Jaime for help, but without a usable phone he was stranded. He should’ve asked Mike instead of running out the door while Mike got dressed.

He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done, but he was nervous. What had he been thinking? They barely knew each other! He wanted Mike to stick around, but he knew he didn’t have to do _that_ to keep him… So why had he?

Why?

Tony looked over his shoulder at the apartment building. He wanted to go back inside. He wanted to go to Mike and help him get ready for his day—make sure he had everything he needed and didn’t forget anything.

But Mike was a grown man and a Dom. He knew how to care for himself. He didn’t need Tony underfoot. Tony had invaded his space enough last night.

Though Mike didn’t seem to be complaining now.

Tony sighed heavily and started walking to the right, hoping it might lead him to something familiar. He didn’t want to admit how frightened he was to be on the streets alone, though he doubted anyone would want to cause him trouble at eight am. 

“Hey, Turtle! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Tony stopped and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, relief flooding him as he turned around to face Mike.

“Your car’s the other way, you know? Come on. Let’s get you back home, alright?”

He’d barely made it fifteen feet from the apartment building, but it was the first time anyone had chased after him. He never knew such a simple thing could make him feel so wanted.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike grinned down at his phone, trying to text Tony back quickly before he got caught on his cell phone. He and Vic were helping their father out with a rush painting job, trying to please a customer who was offering up an obscene amount of money for a little VIP treatment. His father didn’t want either of them using their phones, treating them just as he did his other employees, but Mike couldn’t help himself. 

Tony was getting another tattoo and Mike, who had wanted to be there for it, was happy just to get the occasional update and blurry photo. 

They’d been seeing each other for most of month, but only agreed to make it mutually exclusive two weeks ago—not that either of them had been seeing anyone else before that point. Tony had beamed at Mike when he made the suggestion, his eyes sparkling with joy. 

Stephan had never looked at him like that—not once in their entire time together. He sure as hell had looked at Mike’s wallet that way, though. As for Tony, he had no interest in Mike’s money at all. He just wanted Mike’s attention and praise.

“So when am I going to get to meet this guy?” Vic asked, rather loudly. The sound startled Mike who almost ended up dropping his phone before he could hit send.

“When he feels like it. He wants us to take things slow,” Mike said, tucking his phone back into his pocket where it was safe.

“I take it that means you haven’t met any of his friends.”

“He talks about them, but I haven’t really made the effort to meet any of them.”

“You might want to show at least a little bit of interest in his life outside of your bedroom if you want to make this thing work, Mike,” Vic said, like he had any room to talk. His track record in relationships wasn’t much better than Mike’s.

“Well, I’m a little busy getting used to knowing him at the moment. Alright? He’s not the easiest person in the world to figure out. The last thing I need is more people added to the mix.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve been with him this long. He’s not your type at all.”

“He’s _exactly_ my type. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, but he’s not. Stephan… Your other exes, they were all alike. They were simple—you _like_ simple. I don’t see things working out with some guy you can’t understand.”

“Fuck you,” Mike snapped, scowling at the wall he was painting and wishing he could take the roller and beat Vic over the head with it. His exes were like he’d been in those days—young. They were _young._ They all came from the same area, the same upbringing, had less than one ex-boyfriend to bitch about except for the sluts who’d had too many exes to remember by name. 

Tony was different. He was older and something _bad_ had happened to him. He wouldn’t say what, would hardly let Mike ask about it, but it was so clear he’d been hurt. Of course Mike was more patient with him than the others. Tony wasn’t just another player in his game that Mike wanted to stick around for a few months. He wanted something meaningful.

“You know, you’ve never even shown me a picture of this guy? Usually you’re shoving pics of your bootycalls in my face. Are you ashamed of him or something?”

“Ashamed of Tony? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind,” Mike said, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and flipping through his gallery until he found a good photo of Tony in his apartment. He’d been doing dishes, his sleeves rolled up and his hands too wet and soapy to cover to his face the way he always did when Mike tried to take his picture. 

“Okay, he does _look_ your type…” His tone and the way his brow furrowed to Mike Vic had more to say.

“What?” He asked, waiting to hear some criticism about how Tony’s look didn’t fit with his own in some made up way. Vic could never just be happy for him.

“Nothing. I think I’ve seen him before. Where does he work?”

“I don’t know,” Mike said, withdrawing his phone. He knew very well where Tony worked though he’d yet to visit him there. He just didn’t want Vic showing up and bothering him. 

“You don’t know?”

“Some music store.”

“He works at the shop where I bought my guitar. I know it. He’s the one who sold it to me. I _know_ it.”

“Well don’t go there and bug him. If you freak him out and he dumps me, I’m going to tell your girlfriend that you film her in the bedroom.”

“That was one time!” Vic shouted, Tony the furthest thing from his mind in that moment—just as Mike preferred it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony didn’t much care for the throbbing pain in his ribs, but it felt just a bit more bearable as he laid across Mike’s couch, his head in Mike’s lap, the strands of his hair slipping through Mike’s gentle fingers. He’d honestly spent more of his free time in Mike’s apartment than he did in his own, but Mike never seemed to mind. It was quite the opposite really. Tony cleaned whenever he came over and made himself as useful as Mike would allow.

Mike had made them official, bestowing what felt like the world’s greatest honor on Tony, but they’d yet to have any real scenes together. (Hell, they hadn’t even had sex yet, but that was Tony’s own decision and Mike just played along.) More often than not, Mike seemed happy just to have Tony close to him—laying on his chest, leaning on his shoulder, sitting in his lap. It made Tony feel like they were really about to have something special, something different. They were getting to know each other as people before really slipping back into the patterns of their shared lifestyle. 

Tony appreciated that more than anything. He felt safe with Mike—safe to kiss him, safe to touch him, safe to offer up his mouth without having to worry about it turning into a scene he wasn’t prepared for. They hadn’t even really discussed limits yet—though Mike mentioned off hand one time that if Tony ever tried to kiss him while holding Mike’s come in his mouth after giving him a blow job he was going to get smacked. It wasn’t anything Tony ever even thought to do, but he was glad they’d talked about it.

“You have anything like that? Something that grosses you out so much it makes you want to be violent?” Mike had asked.

Tony shook his head no. Mike then asked about limits and Tony had shied away from the topic. Not yet, he’d thought. He wasn’t ready just yet.

“You keep making those noises and I’m going to jump you, Little Turtle,” Mike said, drawing Tony out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even been aware of his noises.

“Sorry. My ribs hurt.”

“I can tell. But if you keep whimpering like that, you’re gonna get me hard.” Mike stared at the television like he hadn’t said anything at all. 

Tony’s eyes went wide and he felt his cheeks heating up. It was stupid to be shy around Mike, but Tony couldn’t help it. He worked harder to keep his noises to himself, but let out a low whine when Mike tapped his shoulder and told him to sit up. 

“Now what did I just say?” Mike asked after standing from the couch.

Tony looked up at him, a small pout on his lips though he was more curious than worried about the look of disappointment on Mike’s face. He knew that Mike couldn’t possibly be proposing to punish him or hurt him in some way, not with a fresh tattoo taking up most of his ribs—and definitely not without a lengthy conversation first. 

“What did I say?” Mike repeated when Tony failed to answer him, emphasizing his question by grabbing Tony’s chin and tilting his head up.

“Not to…whine?” Tony asked, swallowing anxiously. His mouth had run completely dry.

“No… That’s not what I told you. Do I need to give you a hint?”

Tony remembered exactly what Mike had said. He clung to his every word. But he’d be damned if he put the brakes on now—now that Mike was finally showing a really surge of that dominant side Tony had been craving. He’d get little peeks now and then, but this one seemed much deeper.

“Not t-to make so much noise, Sir?” Tony suggested. Mike’s eyes immediately turned dark with lust as soon as Tony addressed him properly. It was the first time Tony had ever said it and he could feel himself start trembling. He was playing with fire and he prayed Mike knew not to let him burn himself.

“Someone needs to teach you to listen, Little Turtle,” Mike said before leaning down and kissing Tony hard on the mouth. Tony tried to kiss back but Mike drew back immediately. “Think I should I do that? Teach you how to pay attention?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tony said, nodding quickly. God, yes. 

“I’m going to make myself a drink and in that time, you’re going to go get on the bed in nothing but your shirt.”

“My… My shirt?” Tony asked, taken aback by the command.

“Let’s keep your tattoo as safe as possible. Alright, Turtle?” Mike kissed his cheek gently after speaking, then moved his lips down to his neck and sucked it softly until Tony moaned and arched against him. “On the bed—just your shirt.”

“Wh-what positon?” Tony asked, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

Mike grinned at him, his dark eyes starting to sparkle. He looked so pleased. So pleased… Just seeing him like that made Tony’s breath quicken. He didn’t think he’d ever have that effect on someone again.

“Whatever position doesn’t hurt your ribs. Just make sure you can stay still. 

“Yes, Sir,” Tony breathed, standing up as quickly as his sore ribs would allow. He hurried into the bedroom and started lowering his jeans without any hesitation. His hands were shaking from the excitement, the curiosity, making it hard to undo the button. 

“You want a drink, Turtle?” Mike called from the kitchen. 

“Um… Y-Yeah?” Tony had no idea what was happening, but thought a stiff drink might take the edge off so he wasn’t so nervous. He was excited and eager as hell, but still so nervous. They’d messed around before, but never anything more serious that blow jobs. What if Mike was wanting to go all the way? 

Tony wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea, but he was anxious—afraid he might mess it up, afraid he might get hurt. 

A bad memory leapt into his mind and Tony shook his head to push it away. 

Mike was safe. Mike wasn’t going to hurt him or his tattoo. Mike even said he wanted the tattoo covered to keep it safe. He wasn’t going to do anything bad. 

“I thought I said to be on the bed. You really _don’t_ listen, do you, Little Turtle?” 

Mike’s voice behind him made Tony’s skin prickle and froze, his jeans shoved halfway down his legs. The next thing he knew, an icy cold glass was being pressed to the base of his neck, cool beads of water running down and soaking into the collar of his shirt. 

“Turn around.”

Tony obeyed, stumbling a little over his jeans and blushing at his own clumsiness. He had to look so stupid right now—but that thought trickled away when Mike handed him a dark glass. 

“Sit on the bed. I’ll help you get undressed.”

“I-I can do it, Sir,” Tony said, sipping his drink nervously. 

“No. Go sit down. I can see you shaking. Let’s not have you falling down, too.” Mike nudged Tony back toward the bed and set his drink aside before kneeling down and helping to tug Tony’s jeans the rest of the way off. Next he pulled off Tony’s socks and slid his hands up Tony’s calves to his thighs. “Are you doing okay, Little Turtle?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tony stammered, trying to control his breaths. He was painfully hard and embarrassed that Mike could see it so clearly even before he started pulling Tony’s underwear down. 

Trying to combat his nerves, Tony took a long drink from his glass. He shuddered from the burn of the alcohol against the back of his throat but Mike didn’t comment. 

“Little Turtle… I don’t want to do anything too intense right now.” Somehow, his words hit Tony like a punch in the stomach. Was he trying to back out? Had he seen something he didn’t like? Tony had tried to get undressed before Mike got back in the room—he’d tried his best to obey. “I would hate myself if I hurt you, so…even if we’re not really having a scene, let’s use the stoplight method, alright? Green, yellow, and red? That way I know if you’re uncomfortable without having to ask if you’re okay.”

“Okay,” Tony said, sighing a little in relief. He hadn’t messed anything up yet. Good. That was good. Tony took another drink, then moved to lay back when Mike put a hand on his chest and pushed against him. He held onto his glass awkwardly, trying not to let it spill on the bedspread, and stared at the ceiling while Mike slowly pulled his underwear down his thighs. 

“How are your ribs feeling? Are you okay to lay like that?”

“Um…” Tony thought about it, then slowly sat up. He finished off his drink and handed the glass to Mike who looked at him a little wide-eyed. 

“Shit, you’re making me look bad,” Mike mumbled, setting the glass aside before taking a sip of his own drink. “Are you okay like that?”

“Might need to move. Laying down hurts.”

“Well it’s gonna suck to sleep tonight,” Mike said, pulling back while Tony worked to resituate himself on the bed. “Why are you so fucking sexy?” Mike added when Tony moved to rest on his hands and knees, his thighs up in offering. He didn’t think they were going to go all the way, but Tony was almost praying they’d at least move up to fingering. Mike had tried that once when they’d been together and Tony had gotten nervous and made him stop. He hated himself for that. “I asked you a question. I’m starting to think you’re ignoring me on purpose, Little Turtle. It’s like you want to get your ass smacked.”

The words sent a shiver of pleasure all the way down Tony’s spine, causing him to dip his back a little more—pushing out his thighs. 

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mike asked, slowly raking his fingers up Tony’s thigh to the curve of his ass. “I asked you a question.” He followed up his statement with a sharp smack, the force of it enough to make Tony’s balance falter. 

“Shit,” Tony cursed, not expecting the first hit to be so powerful.

“Color?” Mike asked, rubbing Tony’s back gently.

“Green,” Tony whispered, swallowing hard and bracing himself for another blow. 

The second strike was harder than the first and Tony gasped, fisting one of his hands in the blanket beneath him. Mike would smack him, then gently caress his back or his thighs for a moment before hitting again—the sharp stinging and soft touches mixing together so perfectly. 

The feeling of Mike’s firm hand crashing against his skin was intoxicating, more so than the liquor in his system. He’d start up a rhythm, slapping then caressing before striking again in a different place, then would change it in favor of spanking him in the same spot over and over again as fast as he could until Tony would break composure and cry out. 

He never moved out of position, though. Tony knew how to behave and hoped it would earn him a reward later. He kept his ass up and his legs spread, pushing his thighs back in want after every blow. 

“You’re liking this too much for it to be a punishment. You know that, don’t you?” Mike asked, his voice heavy. Tony had made the mistake of letting himself moan after a particularly hard blow to his left thigh—the one Mike seemed to enjoy hitting the most. Tony bet that one spot was three shades of red darker than the rest of him. 

It would probably have a bruise in the morning, Tony thought, and gave another small moan before answering Mike’s question. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“What should I do about that, then? You’re supposed to be learning a lesson. How can you learn if you’re enjoying yourself?” Mike slid his hand over Tony’s stinging left thigh and slipped his hand between Tony’s legs, grasping him firmly. 

“Oh, fuck! I-I don’t know, Sir,” Tony whimpered, trying so hard to keep still as Mike began to stroke him far too slowly. He couldn’t stand how turned on he was, the ache in his ribs so far from his mind now that his throbbing cock commanded all of his attention. 

“You don’t know?”

“No, Sir,” Tony said, taking a deep breath once the words were out. He wanted to press down into Mike’s hand so, so bad. He needed more—he need a firmer touch, a quicker pace. 

Oh, this just wasn’t _fair!_

“If my hand isn’t cutting it, maybe I should take off my belt and give you a few swats with that. What do you think about that?”

Tony stiffened. He didn’t like that idea at all but he was nervous about what would happen if he said so. The belt was a favorite for Doms… Would Mike be disappointed?—Would _everything_ stop? Maybe it was better if he just said ‘yes, sir’ and let it happen… But the thought still terrified him and made him sick to his stomach. This wasn’t really a scene though, Mike had said—just play. They were just messing around. He couldn’t be that disappointed if Tony told him no, right?

“Tony? Color?”

“Y-Yellow?” Tony stammered, squeezing his eyes shut when Mike’s hands moved away from him. He knew speaking out was a bad idea…

“Is it what I said about the belt?”

Tony didn’t want to answer, so afraid he was being a letdown. It was doubtful Mike would hit as hard as Jose had. Mike didn’t really seem to want to _hurt_ him. He should’ve just agreed.

“Turtle, you need to tell me. We can stop if I hurt you.”

“I-I just don’t like belts,” Tony stammered. “They—They break skin too easy. I don’t like to bleed.”

“Okay. That’s fine,” Mike said, gently running his palm over Tony’s back—up and down his spine until Tony started to relax again. “I don’t want to hurt you. If something’s wrong, just tell me. Okay?”

Tony nodded his head but was still too ashamed to turn his head and accept the kiss on the lips Mike offered him, settling for a kiss on the cheek instead. He felt so comforted, though, with Mike’s weight pressing down gently on his back—having Mike over him. 

“Do you want to stop for tonight? We can. I won’t be mad.”

“We don’t need to stop,” Tony said, his voice embarrassingly quiet. He felt a bit better just knowing Mike would actually stop if they needed to—and even more so hearing how genuine he sounded when he said he wouldn’t be upset. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, finally turning to face him and accepting the kiss on the lips which followed. Just as it started to get heated, Mike put his hand on the back of Tony’s neck and push him down further against the mattress.

“Spread your legs more,” he mumbled as he pulled back, his hands ghosting over Tony’s sides as he moved—being more than careful when touching his left side which bore his new tattoo. “Keep your head down. Stay still.”

Tony did his best to stay absolutely still, but his heart was racing as he watched Mike pull back and reach into the drawer of his bedside table. He knew what was coming and he didn’t know if he was more excited or nervous as he watched Mike take out a bottle of lubricant. It was unopened and he struggled a moment with the plastic wrapping covering the cap. Tony wanted to offer to help, but he’d been told not to move.

That was a command which became increasingly more difficult to manage when Mike began stroking a lube-slick finger between his cheeks, toying with him a while before pressing the digit inside. Tony couldn’t help but moan, his hips pressing back against Mike’s hand to drive the finger in deeper.

“Now, I told you not to move, Little Turtle,” Mike said, clicking his tongue before pulling his finger completely out—leaving Tony empty and damned close to desperate. “You really _don’t_ know how to listen.”

“I can’t help it!” Tony whined, his whole body starting to shake uncontrollably when Mike deliver a sharp smack to his ass again. 

“Oh, you can’t _help it?”_

“No!”

“Why not? Does it feel that good?” Mike circled Tony’s hole with his finger again, pressing against him with force—but not enough to allow it to slip back inside like Tony needed. “I asked you a question, Little Turtle. Does it feel _good?”_

Tony almost screamed when Mike emphasized his question by thrusting his finger all the way inside. His throat grew tight, however, and all that came out was a shuddery moan that grew deeper and deeper as Mike began moving his finger in and out.

“I still want an answer…” Mike said, his tone close to threatening.

Tony whined and pressed his hips back again, knowing he was inviting trouble but really not able to help himself at this point. He wanted more, he wanted anything Mike was willing to give him—he might even beg if Mike asked him again.

“If you’re not liking it, I guess I could just…stop,” Mike said, making a point to curl his finger and rub the tip over Tony’s prostate as he made the suggestion. When he started drawing back, Tony felt panic sink into his chest and he reached back as quickly as he could, grabbing Mike’s wrist.

“Don’t!—Please! Please, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“You don’t want me to?”

“No! Mike, _please!”_ Tony whimpered as Mike held his finger in place, shaking a little from the vibrations wracking Tony’s hand which was still wrapped around Mike’s wrist.

“So you’re telling me it feels good then?”

_“Yes,”_ Tony whined, burying his face in the mattress as his cheeks began to burn.

“Yes, _what?”_

“Yes, it feels good, Sir,” Tony confessed, dropping his hand from Mike’s wrist. The humiliation washed over him all at once, embarrassed to be begging for more pleasure, embarrassed to love it so fucking much. 

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Mike said, laughing softly before driving his finger in as deep as it could go—fucking Tony with it until he made Tony beg for him to add a second. “You’re so greedy. You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?—Then you start begging for more. Do you think you’ve earned the right to be fucked by me?”

A shiver ran down Tony’s spine just at the thought. He didn’t want to answer that question—he almost wished Mike had gagged him so he never really had to speak. At the start he’d been hopeful they wouldn’t go all the way, now he was almost counting on it—getting worked up just at the thought. His dick was already so hard, though, leaking onto the blankets every time Mike would say something dirty in his ear. He wouldn’t last a minute if Mike tried to fuck him now, not even if he was ordered to hold it. 

“I don’t think you could handle it, could you? No… You’re a shaking mess. Making a mess of my bedsheets… What am I going to do with you?”

Tony whined softly, squeezing his eyes shut as Mike worked both his fingers against Tony’s sweet spot. 

“Should I make you come? Do you think you’ve earned it?”

All Tony could do was stammer out Mike’s name, his abdomen tightening just at the thought. 

“You want that, don’t you? Even though you’ve been so bad this whole time.” He started moving his fingers slowly in and out, missing Tony’s prostate with each delicate jab.

“Mike, _please,”_ Tony whimpered, pressing his hips back in time with Mike’s movements. 

“You know, for how shy you are every other minute of the day, you sure like to beg.”

_“Mike,”_ Tony pleaded, needing more than the gentle touches to push him over the edge. His legs were shaking so badly and he was afraid they were going to drop out from under him. 

“I hear you, Tony. Calm down. We’ll get you there.” Mike chuckled almost ominously and Tony had about four seconds to wonder why before he felt something else pressing at his hole—something wet and hot, sliding into place beside Mike’s buried fingers. 

Tony’s head snapped up, his eyes going wide in shock at the feeling of Mike’s tongue licking its way into his hole. No one had ever done _this_ to him before, and the surprise was almost too much. At least until Mike started thrusting his fingers in and out again, working them alongside his tongue. 

Tony let his head drop back down onto the bed, burying his face and smothering his moans in the blankets. He squeezed his eyes shut and just let the feelings overwhelm him one by one—the heat of Mike’s tongue, the roughness of his fingers…

His breaths came sharper and sharper until he was coming helplessly, his voice turning hoarse as he attempted to stifle the scream. Mike continued to pump his fingers in and out even after Tony had reached the edge, working him until he was shaking head to toe from the overstimulation. 

“That’s it. That’s a good boy,” Mike whispered, rubbing Tony’s back as he came down from his high. Tony knew he wouldn’t be allowed to rest for long, but he wasn’t taking a moment of the brief aftercare for granted. He was glad Mike was even giving him a chance to recover before making his next demand. “So… Now what are you going to do for me?”


	4. Chapter 4

Mike felt this could only end badly, but Vic was going to the music store whether he tagged along or not. At least this way he could keep tabs on his brother and make sure he didn’t do anything to offend Tony or frighten him off. At least he hoped. 

They’d been together a while now so he doubted Tony would think it creepy or odd if Mike showed up where he worked—especially since Tony had never exactly told Mike the location of his store, or its name for that matter. If Mike could pull it off, they could act like it was all just a happy coincidence. So long as Vic didn’t do anything stupid…

“Oh, come on; I’m not going to scare off your boyfriend.”

“You’d better not,” Mike snapped.

“How would I scare him off? Honestly?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah. _Honestly._ How do you expect me to scare him off?”

“I don’t know. Saying stupid shit about my ex-. Tony is _extremely_ shy, alright? I have a right to be worried.”

“I still don’t get why you’re dating him. You know it’s not going to work out.”

Mike wanted to punch him for that comment—every single time he made it. Sure, he’d proven himself to be an over-eager ass in the past, but that was _before._ That was when he’d been young and stupid and horny for anything that moved. It was before he’d met Tony… 

“Quit fucking saying that. If he hears you say that, it’ll get in his head and it’s going to fuck everything up,” Mike said, glaring daggers at the sidewalk in front of him. Tony was shy everywhere except the bedroom—and that was the only place Mike didn’t care for modesty. Tony was perfect for him, or at least the closest he’d ever come to a perfect match.

“I just want you to be safe,” Vic said, his tone irritatingly indifferent—that smug ‘I’m older and I know better’ tone. 

“Look, I like Tony a _million_ times more than I ever liked Stephan when we were dating.”

“A million?”

“Yes—a fuckin’ million. Just wait until you meet him. You’ll see.” 

Except Tony was less than convincing when Mike and Vic finally made it through the front doors of the building. He saw Mike and he smiled, then he saw Vic with him and that smile was immediately gone. He looked at them as if he thought Mike had come in with another _man_ instead of his brother, though he guessed Tony might actually have that thought since Mike had never shown a picture of him before.

“Hey, Turtle,” Mike said, smiling and waving at Tony who shrank back behind the glass counter. He kept looking at Vic, not at Mike, and seemed so put off by him that he couldn’t even function or offer a greeting in return. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I did,” Vic announced, laughing at both of their expenses.

“What… What are you doing here?” Tony asked, like he thought he was being ambushed—like he wasn’t happy to see Mike at all despite the little grin he’d had when Mike first came through the door.

“Came to see you,” Mike confessed, knowing Vic would never play along. “This is my brother.”

“Hi,” Vic said, waving a little at Tony who finally seemed to relax.

So he really _had_ thought Mike walked in with another date. Damn. He thought they trusted each other a little more than that…

“Did you guys…want to look at anything in particular?” Tony asked. “In the store?”

“Nah, just you,” Vic said before laughing at his own dumb joke. “I’m kidding. I blew an amp last week and I wanted to see if the guy my brother won’t shut up about will sell me one.”

Now that comment got Tony to smile, though he tried to hide it by ducking his head. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” Mike said.

“It’s fine,” Tony said, looking at Mike for only a moment before ducking his head again. He was so shy… Mike loved it—he loved it even more now that he knew the modest only existed outside of closed doors. When they were alone, the very last thing Tony could be called was shy.

“So… Are you going to show me around or not?” Vic asked.

Tony lifted his head again and hurried out from behind the counter, going to Vic’s side like a good little boy. Mike would have to reward him for that later—he would have a lot of making up to do once they were alone after all the trouble Vic was going to cause. 

While Vic drilled Tony on what brands were best, Mike came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. He put his chin on Tony’s shoulder and kissed his neck, smiling at the way it made Tony stiffen.

“Mike… I’m at work,” Tony whispered. “Jaime’s in the back doing inventory.”

“Alright,” Mike said, unwinding his arms from Tony’s body and stepping away. “It’s hard to control myself, you know? You’re so fucking sexy.” Mike delivered one sharp smack to Tony’s ass—aiming deliberately for a bruise he’d left there—and stepped back.

Tony yelped and shied away from him, pressing against one of the shelves. Mike would’ve thought he’d taken things to far if not for the mischievous gleam in his boyfriend’s eyes, despite the way he cowered. Tony loved being smacked around—so long as it wasn’t his face getting hit. Even the smallest pat on the cheek made him flinch, and though they’d never discussed it, Mike was certain face-slapping was a hard limit for his Little Turtle.

“Do you need help with something!?” Came a sharp voice from behind them. 

Mike was immediately reminded of grade school—being caught by the teacher doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. When he turned around, there was another man standing there with a swell of brown hair—and a cold look in his eyes.

“Jaime, this is Mike,” Tony said, stepping away from the shelf and putting a hand on Mike’s arm. 

Mike thought the admission might make the man’s face soften, but instead it grew even darker. Tony was looking at Jaime almost fearfully—but it wasn’t as if he expected to get fired for having friends in the store. No… There was something else behind that look. Something personal.

“You got a problem with me?” Mike snapped, glaring at Tony’s co-worker.

_“Mike,”_ Vic hissed, hitting Mike’s arm. 

“Yeah, I have a problem with people like you.”

“Jaime, he didn’t do anything,” Tony said.

“He put his hands on you. I _saw_ him. I heard him hit you!”

“He was playing around,” Tony said, looking at Mike almost nervously—trying to smile through his discomfort.

“Oh. He was playing around? Like Jose was playing around?”

“Don’t… Don’t bring that up like you know what you’re talking about,” Tony said. His voice had become so suddenly thick with anger that Mike barely recognized it. “Mike’s my boyfriend. He and his brother are here shopping. Go back to work.” Mike had never heard Tony speak forcefully before, and he never would have imagined that he would be the one in charge at work—but apparently he was.

Jaime stared at them a long time—his eyes staying hard—before he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You really want me to?” Jaime asked.

“Yes. I’m fine. Quit trying to take my sale,” Tony said, turning his back to Jaime and stepping closer to Vic—picking up where he left off on his descriptions of the different amps. Mike didn’t take his eyes off the man, and Jaime continued to glare at him before gesturing for Mike to come over to him. 

Mike had half the mind to punch him for the way he was acting, but let the impulse pass. Tony may have taken charge for a moment, but he was still timid as hell every other hour of the day. Punching out his coworker would not be good at all for their growing relationship, no matter how much the asshole deserved it. 

“What do you want?” Mike asked, keeping his voice low. Tony turned around immediately and started to walk over to them, but Mike shrugged him away. When Tony started looking worried, Mike blew him a kiss and winked. That, at least, made Tony blush. “What do you want?” Mike asked again when he and Jaime reached the counter at the front of the store. 

“What are you doing with Tony?”

“What’s it to you? He’s your coworker.”

“My _coworker?_ Really?” The man started to grin, the sort of movie star smile that could get just about anyone weak in the knees—only it was quick to turn dark as he laughed. “He’s really never mentioned me? Or doesn’t he get the chance before you’re stuffing something down his throat?”

“What the hell is your problem?” Mike asked, his skin starting to prickle. Was this Tony’s ex-? He talked about him like he knew him—like he had some sort of right to him.

“He didn’t mention me…but at he at least mentioned Jose, right?” Jaime asked, still smiling though Mike could tell it was meant to mask anger, vicious anger.

“What’s it to you?” Mike snapped, looking back over at Tony who was watching him as well with a look of worry on his face. Mike could tell just with one glance hat Tony was resisting coming over to them as hard as he could. Maybe later after this had all passed, Mike might find it cute how the shy little turtle wanted to come to his rescue.

“Did he mention Jose or not?”

“What the hell does it matter what he and I talk about? It’s none of your goddamned business, so why don’t you just back the fuck off?”

“Don’t even start to think that act works on me. Maybe you people can boss around guys like Tony, but not me. I don’t play that game.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck you want,” Mike growled. “I came to see my boyfriend. Why do you have a problem with that?”

“You think I don’t know what you do to him? You think I don’t see he bruises on his arms?”

“Oh, come on. I’m not _hurting_ him,” Mike said, rolling his eyes. He did _not_ want to get into this right now. He didn’t feel like explaining the culture to someone who didn’t feel like listening. If he was Tony’s friend, he would know what sort of shit he was into and wouldn’t start throwing out the abuse accusations.

“That’s all you do to him. That’s what this whole thing is about. I watched him go through it with Jose, and I’m not letting it happen again.”

“Look, we just started dating. I don’t know much about him, but I do know that I’m not out to _hurt_ him. Alright? Tony’s a good guy—” A good guy with a lot of explaining to do once he was off work. “—I’d never hurt him.”

“That’s all you want him for—to hurt him and make him feel bad about himself.” The man said it with so much conviction, like he really believed the bullshit spewing from his mouth.

“You don’t even know me,” Mike snapped looking back over at Tony who said something to Vic before hurrying to Mike’s side.

“Jaime, _please._ He didn’t do anything. He’s my boyfriend. Why are you doing this?”

“He’s your boyfriend but you never told him about me?”

“What’s to say!? You’re my friend. Why are you acting like this?”

“Because I didn’t go through all that shit with Jose just so you could sign up for it again with some other guy! We _talked_ about this!”

“Mike isn’t like Jose,” Tony said firmly. 

“Yeah. We’ll see about that,” Jaime said, locking eyes with Mike. “Won’t we?”

Mike glared right back at him, not letting his gaze falter until Jaime walked away. As soon as he was gone back to the storeroom, Tony turned to Mike and grabbed his arm. 

“I’m so sorry—Please don’t be mad. Jaime gets—”

“Is he your ex?” Mike asked, not able to help himself. Tony had stood up for him, sure, but he could have at least said something before now about having a “best friend” that already hated his guts.

“What? _Jaime?_ No! Mike, no. No, that’s not why he acted like that. He’s just protective of me. I’m sorry he acted this way. That’s why I never invited you to meet him. I _knew_ he’d act this way.”

Tony looked so remorseful and guilty, his brown eyes wide and damned near fearful. Mike wasn’t exactly _mad_ at him, but he wished he’d known before that Tony’s best friend didn’t approve of them. It didn’t _change_ anything and Mike liked Tony just as much as he always had, but he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. Even if Tony had come to his defense…

“Mike… I-I’m _sorry._ I don’t know what else to say… Please don’t look at me like that. I-I can’t control what Jaime says.”

“It’s fine, Little Turtle,” Mike said. He shook his head and adjusted his hat, forcing himself to put on a mask of composure before Tony started breaking down. He already looked like he could start to cry at any moment and that was a scene Mike was desperate to avoid. There was no reason to get all worked up. “You want to meet up for dinner later?—Or lunch tomorrow or something?”

The suggestion seemed to catch Tony off-guard and he stammered a moment before making an offer of his own.

“Wh-what if I came over after work? I’ll stop at the store and buy some stuff… I-I’ll make you dinner. Make up for all of this.”

“If that’s what you want,” Mike said. He kind of wanted to go out for pizza, but if Tony felt like cooking him something, he certainly wasn’t about to complain. Tony wasn’t half bad when it came to making meals and if it made Tony feel better about the disagreement, who was Mike to deny him the chance? 

“I could make pasta or something—or maybe homemade pizza? I know how to make crust.”

Mike couldn’t help but smile at that. It was as if the Turtle could read his mind.

“That sounds even better,” he said before leaning in and stealing a quick kiss. 

Tony kissed back with passion, even grabbing the back of Mike’s head for a moment to keep him still. He was trying so hard to apologize and Mike was eager to see what Tony would be willing to do for him once they were alone.

“Alright, Little Turtle, you go back to your sale. Make sure to charge him an extra ten-percent,” Mike said, guiding Tony back over to Vic who was still intending to make a purchase. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Pizza was on the table, dishes had been cleaned up, Mike was eating happily while staring at a program on the television, but Tony didn’t feel any better. They still needed to “talk about it,” and Tony honestly didn’t feel up to “talking about it” after getting his ass chewed by Jaime once Vic and Mike had left the store. He hated how insecure he felt now, how nervous he became every time Mike would say something or shift his position on the couch. Tony had wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with him and enjoy the evening, but now he was too tense—he was scared. 

They were going to “talk about it,” and then Mike was going to ask him to leave. It was as simple as that. They were over. As soon as Mike decided it was time to talk, their whole relationship was done. Finished. Gone. Tony’s dream man would be out of his life just as quickly as he’d stumbled into it. Mike would go on to meet someone better and Tony would be left behind again, devastated and alone. 

He knew he shouldn’t have gone on that site…

“You’re all the way over there,” Mike stated, glancing away from the television just long enough to meet Tony’s gaze. “Why are you hiding from me?” 

“I’m not,” Tony said, resolving to scoot a little closer on the couch. He wanted to be close. He wanted to rest his head against Mike’s shoulder or just lay down in his lap, but he was scared to get that close again. 

It was only going to hurt more in the end if he didn’t start detaching now…

Mike let out a heavy sigh and set his slice of pizza down on his plate before setting the plate down on the coffee table in front of him.

Here is came…

“I thought we’d at least get through dinner first,” Mike said as he turned to face Tony. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tony said, desperate to avoid this at all costs. He wanted to stay with Mike. He wanted them to be together. He didn’t want to spill his guts and have it end like this when things had been going so well.

How could Jaime do this to him? He knew how excited Tony was to be with Mike—why did he have to cause a scene like that? How could he call himself Tony’s best friend and then ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him?

“Uh, yeah we do,” Mike said, irritation heavy in his tone. “You don’t get it, do you? Your best friend thinks I beat you up. He saw those marks on your arm from when we were messing around and thinks I _hurt_ you. Doesn’t he _know_ about you?”

“Jaime… He’s just one of those people,” Tony said, his mouth running dry. “I’ve explained it to him, but he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the culture. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I can’t get it through to him. He thinks if there’s marks, it’s abuse. I’ve told him I don’t mind the bruises—I told him before that I _like_ having marks on me, but he…he just brings up Jose and says I need therapy or something because it’s not okay to like being abused. He doesn’t understand the difference…”

It surprised him when Mike didn’t have a fast comeback or an expression of anger, some quick remark about how Tony should quit being friends with someone who didn’t see eye-to-eye with him on such an important matter. But instead, Mike was just quiet a moment, thinking, then met Tony’s eyes. 

“Okay. So... So maybe I could be a little more careful,” he said. “He’s worried about you, right? And if he’s worried, then your boss is probably aware of it, too—or at least your family. From now on, if we’re messing around, I’ll try to avoid leaving marks on your arms or your wrists like that, okay? I don’t need him giving you the bright idea to leave me.” Mike smiled then, but all Tony could do was stare 

Mike wasn’t angry anymore. Why wasn’t he still angry like he had been at the store? Tony couldn’t trust it. He was waiting to get yelled at, he was waiting to be forced to give details about Jose he wasn’t ready to discuss yet. Why was Mike letting him off the hook so easily?

“Does that…work for you? Why are you staring at me?”

“Sorry,” Tony said, ducking his head to stare at the floor instead of his boyfriend—his boyfriend who wasn’t trying to dump him just yet. “Yeah. That works for me.”

“Okay… Are there any, you know, _limits_ for that that you have? You said you like having marks, but is there a place you don’t like it? I mean, obviously your face—I don’t plan to ever hit you in the face—but what about your neck or your shoulders? You know, places you _can_ cover but they show if you wear a tank top or something?”

“Marks like…you want to choke me?” Tony asked, not sure if Mike was talking about marks from having scenes or simple hickeys at this point. 

“That depends, do you _want_ me to choke you, Little Turtle?” Mike asked, cocking one of his eyebrows up comically high. 

“If you wanted to, you could. I’ve never had that done to me before.” _Willingly._

“Well, I can you I don’t have any experience with it either. I don’t… I don’t usually like things that can end with somebody dying. I know I wouldn’t actually kill you, but… I don’t know. It’s the same reason I don’t do knives and shit in the bedroom. It’s scary for me. I don’t want something to go wrong and have someone I care about end up in the hospital. That would be… That would not be good.”

“Yeah. I don’t like explaining that shit to doctors,” Tony said, cringing at a bad memory.

“I take it Jose put you in the hospital before?”

“A few times,” Tony admitted. They were going to have to talk about it, and he knew if he didn’t bring it up, Mike would eventually. 

“Was it ever anything serious?” Mike asked, reaching over and laying his hand on top of Tony’s. Tony stared at their knuckles a moment, tracing the patterns of the ink with his gaze until he came to a decision. Mike was kind. Mike was gentle, even when he was rough. Mike had a right to know what he was getting into.

“I think he almost killed me once,” Tony mumbled. Mike’s grip on his hand suddenly tripled and Tony rethought what he’d said. “I don’t know if he meant to, but I got really sick. They kept me in the hospital for two days and that’s…that’s when I moved out. I moved in with Jaime for a little while.”

“Was that… Is it the time he cut up your chest?” Mike asked, looking down at the collar of Tony’s shirt which hid his scars from view. He knew Mike had seen them before, but Tony couldn’t help but feel the self-consciousness rip at him. He spent close to six hundred dollars on that tattoo, only to have it ruined that same night. He hated thinking about it, but Mike had a right to know.

“Yeah… That was one of the things he did.”

“Jesus Christ. Like, I thought that might be what happened, but I kind of hoped you’d just pissed off a drug lord or something. Why the hell would he do something like that?” Mike tightened his grip on Tony’s hand, his face looking angry though his tone had remained soft. 

“I got it without his permission,” Tony mumbled, remembering frightening flashes of that awful day—and the ones that followed. Only four lines had been cut into his flesh that night, but it had felt like millions.

“I don’t understand that shit. I _love_ your tattoos. I’d be stoked if you came home every day with a new one.”

“He didn’t like this one. He didn’t like it when I told him I was thinking about it, and I got it anyway. I should’ve known there’d be consequences.”

“Consequences like an argument, not getting your fucking chest carved up! Don’t sit there and justify him. The guy’s a sadist! What was he trying to do?—Cut it _off_ of you?”

“I don’t know,” Tony whispered, looking down at the hand Mike had caged in his own. Mike had a right to know what happened, but it didn’t make saying it any easier. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want Mike to hear it all and then start looking at him as if he were damaged. It was all in the past and he wanted to leave it there—forget it ever happened and move on with someone new, someone he could trust not to put him through those things again.

“So… So that was it, right? He cut you up and it got infected so you had to stay in the hospital?”

“Not exactly… There was a lot that happened. It just… I don’t know what you want to know or—or what all I have to tell. It’s not that I’m trying to keep secrets, but I’ve worked so hard the past ten months to forget everything he did to me. I don’t want to dredge it all back up…”

“Right. No, I get that. I do. I guess it makes sense why your friend would be so protective of you now. If that happened to my friend and I saw someone putting marks on him again, I’d be worried. I’d probably want to punch that guy in the face.”

They were quiet for some time after that, Tony struggling to think of something to say. Mike wasn’t asking for any more details about what happened and he wasn’t pulling away in disgust or revulsion either. He was still holding Tony’s hand and squeezing it every now and then while he stared at the floor.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently because of this. I’m—I’m not _damaged_ or anything. I know what I want in my relationships, and even if Jaime can’t tell the difference, I know what’s abuse and what’s not. I can have a relationship like this and not get hurt.”

“I don’t doubt you, Tony,” Mike said, looking up from the floor and meeting his gaze. There was so much sincerity in his eyes that it made Tony feel the slightest bit ashamed for even thinking Mike would judge him. “The times we’ve even gotten close to having scenes, you’ve made it clear where your limits are. Even if you don’t say it out loud sometimes, I can tell when you get nervous and I respect you enough not to push it. I told you when we first got together that I was looking for a boyfriend first and a submissive second. I want to figure you out before we take things that far. And if something really bad happened to you, I want to know at least a little bit before we get to that point. I don’t want to hurt you or trigger you, or do something that’s going to push you away.”

“I can’t see you doing anything to me like he did,” Tony said, placing his other hand atop Mike’s and squeezing. He’d imagined this going so horribly—imagined getting yelled at or dumped immediately after the conversation began—but Mike stayed so calm. He was so gentle. 

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, Tony,” Mike said, reaching up to stroke Tony’s cheek. Tony leaned his head into the touch and sighed softly, feeling the tension slowly easing out of his body.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike wanted to ask him more. He wanted to ask what all that asshole had done to him to make his friend Jaime act that aggressively. He wanted to hear what else happened the night Jose cut into Tony’s chest. He wanted to, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to see Tony upset anymore and he could tell the discussion, no matter how small it had been, hurt him. He’d been badly abused, of course his friends would be skeptical of who he dated. Even if they knew about the culture and the scenes, bruises were bruises to them. 

He let the conversation drop and returned to eating his pizza, allowing Tony to snuggle against his chest as they watched TV together. Even though their discussion hadn’t really gone anywhere, Mike felt the smallest bit closer to him now. He’d known Tony had been hurt before, but hearing it from him directly made it that much more real. It wasn’t a scene gone wrong or a misunderstanding—Tony had been abused by someone and he had a right to act nervous. He was _going_ to have trust issues and so were his friends.

Luckily for him, though, he was too goddamned perfect in every other respect for Mike to call things off between them.

“Do you think we should start talking about limits and things soon?” Tony asked. He had his head buried in Mike’s chest, his face hidden so Mike couldn’t even begin to guess what made the question come up. Was he wanting to have a scene sometime soon or just worried about making those lines between what was acceptable and not acceptable even clearer? 

“Um… I guess. You think we’re ready to get to that point?” Mike asked. 

“We’ve been together a while… It kind of makes me nervous that we haven’t don’t anything serious yet.”

“I’ve licked your ass twice now. I’d say that counts as fuckin’ serious,” Mike said, not so much offended as surprised Tony didn’t think that counted as intimate. 

Tony choked, his cheeks turning dark red.

“I-I meant—You know what I meant!” Tony cried indignantly, sitting up in surprise.

“I know, Little Turtle,” Mike said, chuckling as he pulled Tony back against him. He squeezed him tight and pressed a kiss onto the side of his neck, loving the way Tony squirmed against him, either trying to get comfortable or trying to wiggle away. Mike made him fight a little bit longer before letting go, only to have Tony scramble away from him and sit at the other end of the couch. 

“I just think it’s weird we haven’t…gone all the way,” Tony said, pulling his knees up to his chest and crossing his arms over them protectively. 

So self-conscious. So needy.

Mike wouldn’t have him any other way.

“You want to go all the way?”

“I’d like to,” Tony said, looking at his feet instead of Mike. “I get worried that there’s a reason we don’t… Like you don’t see me that way or something.”

“You keep forgetting that I stuck my tongue in your ass.”

“No!” Immediately, his cheeks turned bright red again. “I just mean most guys by the second date would have already… You know. And we’ve been together a month and still…nothing.”

“Except those two times I—”

“Mike, _please!_ I-I’m trying to say something.”

“I know exactly what you’re trying to say and I’m telling you you’re being crazy. I’m happy with the pace things are going. Before I met you, if I wasn’t getting laid the first night, I was out. I want something different now. I want something meaningful.”

“Meaningful doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have had sex by now.”

“We’ve had sex! Just because I didn’t stick in your ass doesn’t mean we haven’t had sex! Little Turtle, if you wanted to get laid, all you had to do was say so. You’re so goddamned shy, I didn’t want to push it! Now would you come over here? The AC kicked on—I’m cold.”

Tony sighed and scooted forward on the couch, coming to sit at Mike’s side again and pressing against him. 

“You are impossible to figure out, you know that? _Impossible.”_

“Why do you say that?” Tony asked. His voice sounded so disappointed, like he felt Mike had missed the entire point of their discussion. What the hell else could he want? Mike honestly couldn’t figure it out to save his life. 

“Why? Because you’re shy all the time and then expect me to figure out what’s wrong with you when you don’t drop any hints. I thought we were doing fine. You never told me you were ready to move up bigger things or to start having scenes. You’re the submissive, Tony. You’re the one who sets the limits here, not me. Nothing happens without your say-so. You know that’s how this is supposed to work.”

“I… I guess,” Tony muttered.

“That’s how it’s supposed to work,” Mike repeated. When Tony didn’t say anything else, Mike took the plunge and tacked on a brief, “So what are your hard limits?”

“Name-calling,” was the first word out of Tony’s mouth without missing a beat.

“Name-calling?”

“I know it’s a big thing in the culture and all, but… I don’t know. I just hate it. You can only be called a worthless excuse for a submissive so many times before it starts to sting.”

Mike tightened the arm he had around Tony’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. It went without explaining what sort of cruel jeers that asshole Jose used to throw at him for it to become a hard limit—the first hard limit Tony spat out of his mouth.

“What else, Little Turtle?” Mike asked, continuing to kiss and nuzzle Tony’s head.

“The usual stuff… No family or friends, no knife-play. I really hate blood, so if it can be avoided, that’d be great. I know there’s always a little bit with sex, but…if we’re having a scene and I start bleeding, I want it to stop.”

“Okay. Yeah—that’s not a problem. I’m not much for public stuff or friends or family. I like to keep that side of my life between myself and my partner. I don’t do knives or cutting… I don’t care if you make me bleed, but I have a thing about other…other, you know, _fluids._ I’ve told you before, if you give me a blowjob and try to my own come in my mouth, you’re getting smacked in the face. Same with piss or blood or anything else.”

“I… I don’t mind eating it. Like, licking it off your hand or whatever. I think it can be kind of sexy if the mood is right. That’s probably it though… I don’t do, like, watersports or whatever. Piss-play. That’s gross. Waste is gross.”

“So now that we know neither of us wants to piss on each other, what else?”

“I don’t like having my face hit. I can’t do belts or leather straps—”

“Because of the blood. I remember,” Mike said, nodding quickly. 

“I can take a lot of impact. I really can. It’s just something about the blood…”

“You don’t have to justify it, Tony. If you don’t like it, you don’t like it. It’s fine.”

“I know… It’s just—It’s just that Doms like belts. They _all_ do. And I can’t handle them… It’s pathetic; I know. Maybe… Maybe we could make them work. I-I trust you—”

“Tony, you don’t need to justify it. I told you, if it’s a limit, that’s all there is. I don’t need to use a belt or a flogger or any of that shit on you. I’d rather you just feel safe with me and _not_ use those thing than have you _worry_ about me using them. You can be a perfect sub without ever getting hit with a belt. Stop comparing yourself to everyone else. We don’t need to be like every other couple in the scene. We’re in it for pleasure, right? Not to fit some fucking standard and be like everyone else.”

Whatever he said must’ve struck a chord in Tony because he pulled back from Mike’s arms and stared at him, his eyes wide and so full of affection that Mike couldn’t help but smile at him. He wasn’t used to be cared about or having his limits respected at all. Not at all. 

“What, Turtle?” Mike asked, reaching out and grabbing Tony’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What are you staring at me for? See something you like?” He tacked on with a small laugh. 

Tony pulled away from him and shook his head, blushing. 

“Sorry. I’ve just… I’ve been worried about that for a while and you…you really don’t care about it, do you?” 

“Care about what? That you’ve got different limits from the other people? No. I don’t care. _I’ve_ got limits other Doms probably don’t, you know?”

“Like what?” Tony asked, looking intrigued.

“I have a hard limit against taking photos of me. If you take a photo of me and I don’t have clothes on, we’re done. Same day—simple as that.” Mike expected Tony to jump in with a ‘oh, Mike, I’d _never_ do that!’ speech, but the man just nodded his head to prove he was listening. “I don’t like involving other people. That’s a very strict limit. Some guys are into that, but not me. I’m with you, you’re mine, and we don’t need someone else coming in and ruining everything.”

“I don’t want other people either,” Tony said quickly. “I-I can’t do that. Jose made me do that once and… God, it was awful.”

“Well you never have to worry about that with me,” Mike said. “I don’t share. And if I catch you trying to make me jealous on purpose, your ass is _really_ going to pay for it. I don’t need to use a belt to make you sorry.”

He hadn’t expected the comment to make Tony’s eyes turn dark. Mike knew Tony had more than a bit of a pain kink, but he didn’t think that just the _mention_ of a serious spanking would be enough to get him going.

“You’re not supposed to encourage me to break your limits,” Tony said, smirking as he resituated himself on the couch in order to be closer to Mike—looking like he was one centimeter of self-control away from climbing right into his lap. 

“Lucky for you, flirting’s not a limit. And, lucky for me, it looks like I’m probably going to get to smack that sweet ass of yours around again soon. Aren’t I?”

“No,” Tony said, looking away.

“No? What a fucking time to go back to being shy. Fucking Turtle.”

Tony just laughed at him and leaned over to steal a kiss.

“Okay, Turtle. Back to business. Limits—we’re still discussing limits.”

“Maybe I don’t want to anymore,” Tony said, kissing Mike on the neck this time. 

“If you won’t focus, I’m going to have to punish you. Trust me, you won’t like it when I actually have to punish you.” 

Tony smirked at him, cocky the way all new submissives were before they learned their Doms boasted real consequences. 

“Every time you get off topic is another day you’re not allowed to come. How does that sound, Little Turtle? Sound like fun?”

“No,” Tony said, his eyes going wide with revulsion. 

“Didn’t think so. Which brings me back to the point—limits. What else? Any more hard limits?”

Tony sulked for a moment, making a show of huffing and reclining back into the couch cushion. Acting like he really thought Mike wasn’t going to play with him later.

“I don’t think I can do full bondage anymore,” Tony confessed, staring at the wall instead of Mike. “I used to really like it, but then…but then _this_ happened and now…” Tony gestured to his chest and his damaged tattoo. “I mean… I guess I _could_ do it. It’s not really a hard limit, just something I need to work on again. I used to really like it… It was probably my favorite thing.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Mike said, wanting to get that heartbroken look off Tony’s face before it completely crippled him. “Maybe after we’ve tried some other stuff first and seen how we’re progressing. If you loved it, I’d hate for him to have ruined it for you.”

“Yeah… I can’t do sensory deprivation at all. If I can’t see, I need to be able to hear. I don’t want my ears covered. I need to hear what’s going on. I… I have to hear whoever’s in the room with me.”

“Okay.”

“And if I say I need water, I need water.”

“That’s why we have the stop light method, Turtle,” Mike said, reaching over to rub Tony’s back. He could tell how easily this conversation was stressing him and he felt bad that what should be a simple recitation of turn-offs and offenses was causing his boyfriend stress. “If you need a drink or you feel your sugar is getting low, you say yellow and we take a break. I’ll bring you some water or a snack if you need it. I don’t want anything bad happening to you. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

Tony hummed and shifted closer to Mike on the couch, leaning his head against his shoulder.

“What, Little Turtle?” Mike asked, resting his head against Tony’s. 

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“I don’t know. Us, I guess. I… I like this. I like that you listen to me. Everyone on that site just told me I wasn’t really submissive or didn’t understand what I was asking for. You just…accept me.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times that those guys were just assholes. They don’t know a submissive from a slave. They’ve probably never even _had_ a partner and that’s why they’re tormenting you.”

“I guess,” Tony said, snuggling back against Mike a little harder until Mike wound his arms around his waist and held him tight.

“It’s all about finding what works for you. I think… I think you work good for me,” Mike said, managing to get Tony to smile for him. “So… With that being said, are you sleeping here tonight?”

“Don’t you work in the morning?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. I’ve got you here and you’re warm… I think you should stay. Or are you gonna make me beg?”

Tony smirked and rolled his eyes.

“What was that about?” Mike asked, cocking one brow as Tony wiggled away from him in order to get his own slice of pizza. 

“Nothing,” Tony said.

“It was definitely something, Little Turtle. Spit it out.”

“Doms don’t beg,” Tony said, huffing out a small laugh as he returned to the couch with his slice of pizza.

“Oh, I guess you’re right… But I think that’s because submissives aren’t supposed to make them ask twice.” Mike fixed Tony with the sternest gaze he could manage at the moment, having to fight a smile with every ounce of his being when Tony began to look meek. “So are you staying the night or not?”

“Am I in trouble for not answering you earlier?”

“Do I have to ask twice?”

“I take that as a yes?” Tony said. The cocky Little Turtle couldn’t hold back his smile, even when he stuffed most of his slice of pizza into his mouth—and made a _real_ show if it. 

Oh, he was just _asking_ for it.


	5. Chapter 5

Tonight would be the night, Tony decided. He’d had a long day at the music store, but he was going back to Mike’s apartment and had bought everything he needed to make a good dinner for them both. Mike had bought a movie he wanted them to watch and Tony couldn’t wait for the chance to snuggle up to him on the couch. 

Jose never let him close the way Mike did, and to be able to show his affection for once—to be able to experience having that affection reflected back at him—was the most rewarding thing in Tony’s life. He hadn’t gotten to experience Mike at his most dominant yet, but he was eagerly awaiting that opportunity as well. Mike was so caring, especially when they had their “pretend” scenes. Tony bet the aftercare of a real scene would be incredible…

He couldn’t keep the thoughts out of his head as he made the drive over to Mike’s apartment. Yes, tonight was definitely going to be the night. 

As soon as he was let into the apartment, he dropped the grocery bags in favor of wrapping his arms around Mike and melting into a kiss. He was quick to make it passionate, moaning into Mike’s mouth and sucking his tongue a bit before Mike pushed him back ever so gently.

“Damn. I know you said you missed me, but I didn’t think you meant that much!” Mike said, laughing a little and rubbing his lips. “What have you got going on there?” He added, gesturing to the bags Tony had dropped on the floor.

“It’s a surprise,” Tony said, smiling as he gathered up his groceries and made his way into the kitchen.

“Oh it is? What if I said I hate surprises?” Mike asked, following after him and wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist as Tony removed the groceries from their bags. 

“I’d say…too bad. It’s a surprise.”

“But it’s my apartment and what I say goes,” Mike said, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder—his breath tickling Tony’s ear and making him squirm. “Or do I need to remind you? Hmm?” He emphasized his question by reaching down and squeezing Tony’s ass _hard_ right where he had a bruise from one of their games.

Tony shuddered, more so with pleasure and anticipation than pain, and squirmed away. It didn’t surprise him at all when Mike let him go and chose to stand away from him by the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed over his chest in a mock-pout stance.

“Are you really going to make me ask twice?”

“You can ask all you want. I’m not telling you,” Tony said, looking over his shoulder and smirking at his boyfriend who almost looked horrified. He really expected to get his way, didn’t he?

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah. It’s a surprise.”

“I already told you, I hate surprises.” His eyes were starting to get darker and Tony loved every second of it. He could already feel warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach and he had to fight to keep his arousal from really making itself present. “It’s like you _want_ to have this night end with you getting your ass beat.”

“Maybe I do,” Tony said, turning back to his groceries and fighting the smile that wanted to take over his lips when he heard Mike storming back over to him. 

Mike smacked him right on the same bruise he’d squeezed earlier, making Tony choke on a little noise of pleasure. 

“Keep it up and I’m going to bring out one of my paddles. I promise you won’t be acting up again after that.”

“Oh… Is that all you’re going to do? Paddle me? How boring,” Tony said, gasping in surprise when Mike smacked him again.

“I think you need to go bend over the couch…”

“Why? Are you going to fuck me?” Tony asked, turning away from the counter and licking his lips. Mike looked just as pleased as he was with the way things were going and Tony felt his heart leap a little in his chest.

“Keep talking dirty and I’m going to fuck that slutty little mouth.” Mike grabbed him then and smashed their lips together, growing a little as Tony squirmed up against him.

He’d planned to at least get through dinner first, but he didn’t think he could focus on cooking when he knew Mike’s dominant side was peeking out. Mike was so wrapped up in that “Boyfriend before Submissive” philosophy that he barely told Tony what to do at all, not realizing—it seemed—that Tony was craving dominance more than companionship the past few weeks. 

“Go bend over the couch,” Mike commanded after breaking their kiss. He had Tony pushed back against the counter, his hands gripping his forearms and keeping him pinned. He only loosened that hold when Tony made to move toward the couch, a fake pout on his lips. “I’m telling you, you’re not going to like this one. You’ve been bad. I’m not playing with you this time.”

When he got within a few feet of the couch, Tony paused again. He turned to look at Mike and made a point to smirk at him. He wanted to see just how far he could push before Mike finally snapped in the best way possible. Tony knew Mike as a boyfriend, now he wanted to see him as a Dom. 

“Do what I told you, and bend over the couch,” Mike said, fixing him with the sternest of expressions before stepping away from the kitchen counter and going back into the bedroom.

Tony thought to listen to him, he really did, but the temptation to follow him into the bedroom to see where he kept his toys hidden was too great. He walked quietly after him and came to stand in the doorway, watching as Mike pulled a large black case out from under his bed. 

He held his breath as he watched Mike flip the latches on the case, and stared as he began taking out the contents. Tony’s stomach tightened when the first thing Mike set aside was a leather paddle—a wide, thick strap that would no doubt break skin if Mike hit hard. The knots in his stomach only grew tighter when Mike took two more leather paddles out of the case and set them aside. 

He must’ve liked that kind… They were probably his favorite and he knew Tony wasn’t brave enough to let him use them. It made Tony feel guilty, reminded him that he was the very furthest thing in the world from a true submissive, and he lowered his gaze. 

Maybe he should call this off… Maybe he should pack up and go home, end this now before he caused any damage. Mike deserved a _real_ submissive. Someone he could have scenes with where he was allowed to do whatever his heart desired most. Someone better than Tony… Someone who wasn’t scared of leather and bondage.

You couldn’t be a submissive if those things terrified you…

Tony wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough for Mike…

“Did I say you could come in here and spy on me?” Mike snapped.

Tony’s head snapped up and he didn’t realize how dark his thoughts had gotten until Mike was standing in front of him and caressing his cheek like he hadn’t just been yelling at him moments before. 

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” He asked, his voice so gentle. 

“No. It’s not that,” Tony said, his gaze lowering again to the leather paddles laying in their pile on the floor next to the black case. 

“What’s wrong then?” Mike asked, looking at Tony, then seeming to follow his stare. “Hey—No. I promise, I wasn’t going to use those. I didn’t even think about it. I know your limits. I wasn’t going to—”

“No, I know that. I know… But you have so many and I know you like them—”

“Tony, I like _you._ Stop thinking so much about what we’re ‘supposed’ to do and what’s ‘normal’ in the scene. You don’t like them, I won’t use them. It doesn’t _hurt_ hurt me to not use them. I don’t care either way.”

“But they—”

“The stuff in there… Fuck, Tony, that’s shit from when Stephan and I were together, alright? He liked them. I should’ve given them to him when he left. Just because I have them doesn’t mean they’re my favorite or that I need to use them to have a good scene. I don’t! The only thing I need is you, and I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, biting his lip as he stared over at the leather paddles. Mementos from when Mike had been with Stephan… Tony didn’t like that. He didn’t know why it bothered him all of a sudden when he hadn’t even considered it before, but he didn’t want touched with something that had been used on Stephan. “Do you think…maybe we could go shopping together sometime and pick out things together?”

“What? Why are you asking me that right now?” Mike was starting to sound defensive and Tony remembered, with a grimace, how Mike was sensitive about being used for money. 

“I just… I-I don’t have any of my own things and I thought if we went together, we could… I don’t know, learn each other better.”

“Okay, but that’s not what we’re talking about right now.”

He’d ruined everything. That was the only thought going through Tony’s head over and over and over as he stood there, feeling so small under Mike’s gaze. He wasn’t cut out of this. He wasn’t good enough for Mike, he wasn’t good enough to be a submissive. 

He needed to go home…

He wanted to go home to his shitty, dark apartment and never come out again. Mike had to think he was stupid anyway. Things could only get worse from here… If Tony didn’t leave now, it’d just be the situation with Jose all over again. 

“Tony… Hey, Baby, I don’t want you getting upset. What’s going on? What happened?” Only Mike wasn’t angry. Why did he never get angry? “Little Turtle, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I think I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Please. I want to know what’s happening. Something isn’t right and I don’t know if it’s my fault or if you’re just having a bad day—I’m scared here, Tony.”

“It… I’m sorry.” Tony started to feel like the walls were closing in on him. His mind kept telling him Mike was angry and frustrated and at the end of his rope, then Mike would open his mouth and say he was _scared,_ that he didn’t understand what was going wrong. He couldn’t be so in the dark about what was falling apart between them if he was the one wanting to let go. “It’s not your fault for anything. I… I don’t know what happened. I saw _those_ and I started thinking and…it’s bad when I think.”

“It’s bad when you think and don’t tell me what’s going on. You saw the paddles and you thought what? That I was going to use them? That I can’t imagine a scene where I’m not allowed to use them?”

“No! I… I think Doms like leather. Doms like belts and straps and floggers and bondage, and I’m not able to handle doing any of those things. I’m not good enough for you; I’m not a submissive. I’m not _worth_ anything to you—”

“Hey! You don’t get to decide that kind of shit!” His voice was so sharp and laced with so much genuine anger that Tony shrank back from him, his eyes wide. He’d never heard Mike sound like that. Not over anything. “You’re not _worth_ anything to me? How can you fucking say that!? I have you here almost _every day._ I took my brother to meet you, I put up with your shitty friend getting in my face! Every single day I deal with the fact that something _bad_ happened to you and you can’t trust me enough to tell me anything about it. So you don’t get to fucking decide that you’re not _worth_ anything to me!”

Tony couldn’t think of anything to say. He was stuck staring at Mike’s face, focusing on the fire behind his eyes. Mike was screaming in his face, but Tony wasn’t scared of him. He didn’t even flinch. 

“That asshole got his fucking hooks in you,” Mike said, his voice finally lowering. “Yeah, maybe you’re not with him anymore, but in your head you fucking are and you hang on to every goddamned thing he ever said. Don’t you? _That’s_ what this is about. He told you you were worthless, he told you no one could ever love you, and that nobody would ever want you but him. Didn’t he? And that’s what you think every time you’re with me, isn’t it? _Isn’t it?”_

Tony still didn’t know what to say. He wanted to run out of the apartment and hide from all of this, call Mike in the morning and apologize, but he wanted stay just as badly. He wanted to apologize and stay as close to Mike as physically possible.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“I… I’m sorry,” Tony said, staring at Mike. 

“I’m not trying to get an apology out of you,” Mike said.

“I know that, but…but I _am_ sorry. You’re right. You’re right about _everything_ and… I don’t know how to fix it. I can tell myself for a few hours that everything is fine and I can believe it, but then it all comes back and I hate myself for believing that I could mean anything to a guy like you.”

“A guy like me? Tony, I’m nobody. Okay? I’ve got a good job, I’ll admit that, but there’s nothing _special_ about me. I’m a regular guy. I’m no different from you or Jose or your shitty friend Jaime. Alright? Stop thinking I need some VIP treatment or deserve to have a hundred mindless sex slaves crawling all over me. I don’t _want_ that. I wanted _you._ From the moment I saw you in that fucking bookstore, I wanted you. I thought we’d be good together.”

“We are,” Tony said.

“Yeah, I thought so too. But you don’t trust me for shit. How do you think that makes _me_ feel?”

“Not very good,” Tony mumbled.

“Yeah. Exactly. So while we’re on the subject, tell me, do you really think this is going to work?”

“I want it to…”

“But do you think we actually have a chance? Because my answer is no if you can’t even imagine _trying_ to trust me.”

“I do trust you. Mike, please… I don’t want to lose you. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me, about me and Jose, if that’s what it takes to prove I trust you. I’m just… I’m ashamed of how I let things go on with him for so long and even if you don’t judge me, I do. There was no reason I couldn’t have left him sooner and saved myself from all this happening,” Tony said, gesturing to the scars on his chest even though they were hidden under his shirt. 

“What did happen with that, Tony?” Mike asked.

Tony hated how Mike had him cornered, giving him no choice but to speak. He guessed it couldn’t hurt much more now, especially if Mike was already giving him ultimatums. Tell or else, that was his unspoken command.

Tony asked if they could sit down and gestured to the bed, and his whole body started trembling even before he began to speak.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike was an ass. He felt like the biggest ass in the entire world. He’d screamed in Tony’s face (though Tony really had it coming), then cornered him into talking about his past with Jose. He shouldn’t have done that. He should not have forced him to speak on the subject because even if Tony seemed okay now—now that they’d eaten and watched their movie and laid together in bed—he hadn’t been alright as he talked about it. Mike was surprised Tony didn’t cry considering how worked up he was, but even without the tears he looked so distraught. 

He’d gotten his tattoo without Jose’s permission, but when he got home the psycho pretended he liked it. His kissed Tony on the mouth, told him all the sinful wants in his head, then took him to the bedroom where he proceeded to tie him down. Tony said he got worried after Jose tied his legs down as well since it was something they didn’t usually do together, but didn’t say anything about it. Then Jose blindfolded him and put headphones on him with music blasting so loud it made Tony’s ears hurt. 

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t hear anything, and he couldn’t see anything. 

Jose drew out his game as long as possible, it seemed. He started off kissing him, making Tony think he was genuinely safe despite his sensory deprivation and immobility. Then he’d taken a belt or a strap and started hitting him—hitting his stomach, his thighs, his groin, _Everywhere._

It was no wonder Tony hated fucking straps. Mike swore after he’d heard that part of the story, every single leather toy in his house was leaving. He didn’t care if he and Tony broke up down the line and he had to buy new ones. He wasn’t going to trigger his boyfriend again by leaving one out in plain sight. 

After he was finished beating him, he untied Tony’s ankles just so he could fuck him. Tony didn’t go into detail, but implied that Jose used more than just his length to cause pain. Tony said it last for hours—a vicious cycle of being beaten and fucked before the blindfold was yanked off and he learned there were two other men in the room. People he hardly knew except that they were friends of Jose’s. 

Mike remembered when they had first spoken with each other and Tony had said he’d only ever had four partners. One of them was his first, the second was Jose, and now Mike had learned the last two were people whose names he didn’t know and never learned—people he never even agreed to sleep with.

After they’d all had him, Jose tied Tony’s legs back down and put the blindfold back on him but slipped the headphones off. Then he’d sat himself down on Tony’s stomach and cut into his tattoo while telling him how he deserved it for getting it without permission, how he was going to pay the price for being a bad submissive who didn’t know how to listen—how no one would ever find him attractive now that he was all scarred up and ugly. 

When he finished, Tony said the headphones were put back over his ears, he felt the bed dip as Jose got up, and then he was left there. 

Tony stopped speaking then. He stared at Mike’s dresser with this haunted look in his eyes that Mike knew no amount of kisses or sweet words were going to take away. 

“When did he let you go?” Mike asked, coaxing Tony into ending his story. 

“He didn’t. Jaime came and found me because I’d missed work. He said he saw all the blood and thought Jose killed me. I hate it more than anything that Jaime had to see me like that… He took me to the hospital, but I don’t remember any of it.”

“How long did he leave you there? Before Jaime came?”

“Two days.”

Two fucking days. He’d spent two days tied to a bed, bleeding and in shock. It was a miracle he hadn’t _died._ Suddenly Jaime started sounding less and less like an overprotective asshole and more like a hero. He had a right to be scared for Tony—especially if he’d seen what that psychopath did first hand.

Mike didn’t make him say anything else after that. He pulled Tony against his chest and kissed him, apologized for making him relive that trauma as proof of trust. He’d held him for a long time, smoothing his hair and kissing him in an attempt to make up for how forceful he’d been on the subject. 

After most of an hour, Tony asked if they could go back to making dinner and Mike agreed, staying close to Tony and helping him as he prepared their “surprise” dinner. They watched the movie Mike had bought, then laid in bed together—both of them tired but neither seeming able to sleep. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Mike said, unable to get the pained look that had been on Tony’s face out of his head. He should never have screamed at him like that, no matter what the cause. 

“It’s fine,” Tony whispered. He was laying on his side with his back to Mike. It wasn’t usual at all for Tony to want space between them, but Mike didn’t push it. He’d been cruel to force that story out of him and he couldn’t blame Tony for being upset.

“It’s not… I know it doesn’t even come close to what you went through, but what happened between me and Stephan… I don’t know. I felt really used and I think part of me is always going to be insecure after that. The only reason I think I got mad was because my head keeps telling me you don’t want to be with me, that you put your walls up because you want me to go away or something.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Tony said quietly. 

“I know that… I guess I’m trying to say that I get insecure too, and you and me, we show that different ways. You get distant and I get…loud.”

“At least you don’t hit me.”

“Yelling’s no better.”

“Couples fight, Mike. I don’t hold it against you… I really just want to sleep.”

“Okay. I’m sorry… I know it doesn’t help, but you looked really sexy tonight before I turned into an asshole. You really get me going when you act like a brat…”

Tony laughed, just slightly, and rolled over onto his back.

“I was really in the mood too… I kind of hate myself right now.”

“Don’t hate yourself. It’s on me. A good Dom would’ve handled that better. I’m not gonna fuck it up next time.”

“Maybe…I’ll burn lunch tomorrow or something.” Tony rolled over again and pressed himself into Mike’s side, the small gesture putting Mike’s mind and heart immediately at ease. 

Good. He hadn’t made the Turtle hate him. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever punished someone for being a bad cook.” They continued their exchange until Tony’s answers were little more than grunts and hums as Mike ran his fingers through his hair. 

He was so thankful Tony could forgive him, and that he seemed to be forgiving him out of affection rather than desperation. Mike pulled Tony closer to him, knowing he should feel guilty when his boyfriend let out a sleepy whine of protest. Once he got Tony’s head on his chest, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him tight as he kissed the top of his head. 

He hoped Tony believed him when he said he was sorry. He hoped he wouldn’t wake up in the morning to an empty bed and a text message saying “Sorry I can’t do this anymore.” He hoped.

( ) ( ) ( )

Tony woke up early, laying at Mike’s side with his arm draped over his boyfriend’s tattooed chest. He stayed still a long time, trying his hardest to fall back asleep, but when it proved impossible he slowly rolled over and got out of the bed. 

He made his way into the bathroom and showered, and found himself staring at his scars in the mirror for a lot longer than he should have. He felt smaller now that he’d told Mike what happened. He felt frightened and empty and so _lost._ He hadn’t even told Jaime the extent of what went on that night. He’d never told anyone about the two other men Jose had let have him…

He hated himself for giving up that detail, but he’d been afraid Mike would somehow find out and be angry with him for keeping it back. He was just so afraid now that Mike would want him to press charges or “get help.” All Tony wanted was to forget it had ever happened, and that became easier and easier when he was with Mike—whether his boyfriend believed that or not. He hoped Mike wouldn’t ask about it again or bring it up, even in passing. 

He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to think about the forty-eight hours he’d spent tied to that bed, unable to see and unable to hear…bleeding, hungry, frightened, _thirsty._

Tony turned on the faucet in the sink and cupped his hands under the stream of water, sipping it up quickly and drinking until his stomach couldn’t take anymore. 

He didn’t want to think about it anymore… He wanted to be with Mike.

“Babe? You alright?”

When Tony looked up, he could see Mike standing behind him in the reflection of the mirror. 

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?” Tony asked, turning off the faucet and drying his hands on the hand towel beside the sink. 

“No. I just wondered where you went. I thought you left for a minute.”

“Oh, no. I just woke up early,” Tony said, managing to smile. “I was going to make breakfast if you’re hungry.”

“You know I never say no to you making me pancakes,” Mike said, smiling as well and stepping into the bathroom in order wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. They kissed gently at first, but Tony was desperate to make up for last night. He parted his lips and plunged his tongue into Mike’s mouth, earning a surprised little noise from his boyfriend. Mike slid his hands back to squeeze Tony’s hips, pulling him forward and grinding against him a little. 

“’Should let me make pancakes first,” Tony said when they broke apart for air.

“You’re really going to make me wait that long?” Mike asked, faking a scowl of disappointment. 

“I can’t have my man going hungry. What kind of a boyfriend would I be?” Tony asked, smirking as he slid between Mike’s body and the doorframe in order to escape the bathroom. 

“I don’t know,” Mike asked, following closely behind him. “The naughty kind?”

“No. We both know I’m a good boy,” Tony said, immediately before squeaking as Mike pushed him into the kitchen counter from behind. The sharp edge of the countertop dug into his stomach, but Tony didn’t mind at all. Not when it was the weight of his boyfriend’s warm body pushing down on him.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Mike said. “You know what I think you are?”

“What?” Tony asked, shivering as Mike started kissing his neck. 

“A dirty little tease, and a spoiled brat.” He finished his statement by slapping Tony on the ass, then pulled back and skulked off toward the bedroom.

“What? That’s it?” Tony asked. Part of him was curious what Mike was up to, but another part of him started to fear that Mike wasn’t going to propose they do anything together after the nightmare Tony had turned their would-be scene into the night before. “Not going to do anything about it?” Tony called after a few moments of deafening silence. 

When Mike didn’t say anything in returns, Tony’s spirits and sank and he went about collecting the ingredients he needed to make their pancakes. He heard Mike come back out of the bedroom, then heard the shower click on and the toilet flush. 

He should’ve known better than to get his hopes up. Why would Mike want anything to do with him after all the things Tony had said? He wasn’t a submissive in Mike’s eyes anymore, he was the victim of a crime. He wasn’t going to want to have a scene with someone like that.

Tony did his best to keep the disappointment off his face when he heard Mike walking back toward him again. Their breakfast was finished being cooked and he flipped the pancakes onto their plates, preparing to take them over to Mike’s small kitchen table. 

Only when he went to move, Mike’s arms were around his waist again and his chin was rested on Tony’s shoulder.

“It’s a shame,” Mike said, his voice unusually soft.

“What is?”

“That this is all going to get cold…”

“Get cold? Why?” Tony asked immediately before crying out in surprise as Mike yanked him away from the counter and started pulling him toward the bedroom. “What—Mike! No!” Tony protested, laughing as he tried to put up a fight. It was hard to come off as convincing when Mike was chewing on his neck though.

“You think you can stand there with your ass sticking out and I’m just going to leave you alone?”

“What are you talking about?” Tony cried as he was pushed back onto Mike’s bed. “I was just cooking.”

“Yeah, cooking all bent over the counter—trying to get me worked up,” Mike said, climbing over top of Tony, wasting no time at all reaffixing his lips to Tony’s neck. “You’re not getting away this time.”

“Mm, what if I try?”

“I’m going to pin you down with my dick.”

“Oh God!” Tony called, laughing as he tried to squirm away. 

“What? It’s _hard_ enough.”

“That’s so gross!” Tony said, shaking his head back and forth as Mike tickled his neck with his stubble. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Mike said, sliding his hands up Tony’s shirt. 

Tony let out a heavy sigh and wrapped his arms around Mike’s shoulders, showing he was okay to play along with anything Mike had in mind—though he had a few ideas in his head too. 

They kissed slowly as Mike ran his hands up and down Tony’s sides, raising goosebumps on his skin with every slow caress. Tony had a feeling he was being gentle because of the night before, but the touches still felt incredible. Especially when Mike’s right hand finally found its way between Tony’s legs. 

Tony moaned softly into their kiss, sucking a little harder on Mike’s tongue and rolling his hips up against Mike’s palm. Before long they were both unclothed and Mike was sucking bruises into Tony’s collarbone while fumbling with his nightstand drawer. As soon as he pulled out the bottle of lubricant, he flipped Tony over onto his stomach and started running his palms down his spine, pausing every time he reached his ass before slowly sliding his hands back up to Tony’s neck. Tony knew exactly where the touches were heading, making the anticipation eat away at him until, finally, Mike smacked his left ass cheek—right on top of his favorite bruise—and ordered him to lift his thighs.

Tony listened, knowing it would only end badly if he tried to sneak a scene into this encounter. He’d be lucky if he could get Mike to actually fuck him like he knew they both wanted. After all, he’d grabbed lubricant, not a condom. If he was planning to just do fingering until making Tony suck his cock, this morning wasn’t going to be worth their breakfast getting cold, Tony thought. He couldn’t risk that. Not when he wanted more.

“D-Do you have a condom?” Tony asked, looking back over his shoulder and watching as Mike squirted a bit of the lube onto his fingers.

“I thought you’d never fuckin’ ask,” Mike said, grinning with pleasure before leaning over Tony’s back in order to kiss his lips one last time before slipping two of his fingers inside at once. 

Tony let out a soft hiss of pain and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his muscles to relax as Mike roughly speared him. Soon, the pain turned to pleasure and as soon as Tony let out a moan, a third finger was pressed past is rim. Tony let himself get caught up in it, moaning and sighing softly as Mike worked his fingers in and out. It felt so effortless to trust him, to let Mike do as he pleased. Even when he was rough, he only hurt Tony in all the right ways. 

“Do you think you’re ready? I can do more prep if you need it,” Mike asked, his voice a soft, loving whisper in Tony’s ear. 

“I should be okay,” Tony said, watching as Mike leaned away from him again to grab a box of condoms of the nightstand. His heartrate picked up as he watched him remove one from the box then start tearing the packaging.

This was happening—it was finally happening. He could finally show Mike what he was good for, even if he kept ruining their scenes. 

He made sure to moan as Mike began pressing inside, automatically shifting his legs further apart as Mike sank in inch by inch. There was no stopping and starting—he pushed his way past the rim and didn’t still until he was buried as deep as he could go. He slid both his hands down Tony’s back, then hooked his hands around Tony’s hips, stroking them a moment before pulling them back against his own hips in order to drive himself a few centimeters further inside. That small gesture alone was enough to get Tony going even more. Even if they weren’t having a scene like he’d hoped, he loved how it felt when Mike took control—when Mike commanded his body however he liked.

His motions were slow at first, allowing Tony’s body to relax enough to accommodate his girth as he thrust in and out, but as soon as Tony started pressing back against him—trying to get him to go deeper—Mike squeezed his hips hard to pin him still, then really laid into him. Each time he thrust forward, he yanked Tony back against him.

The angle didn’t quite suit him, but the manhandling wasn’t something Tony would pass up. He was hoping Mike’s grip was hard enough to leave bruises, and the thought alone made him moan louder.

It had been so damned _long_ since he’d felt this way, since he’d had this done to him and actually _enjoyed_ it. He’d almost forgotten how good it _could_ feel, to have someone using him—making use of him—and giving him pleasure in return.

He made sure to show his appreciation, too, fisting his hands in the sheets and being as vocal as he’d dare in an apartment. He hoped Mike wouldn’t find him annoying or unappealing. He didn’t make it overdramatic and kept his noises genuine, but there was still that chance Mike would find the sound of his voice distracting in a bad way—in an unattractive way. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Mike asked, yanking Tony’s hips even harder. He forced himself just that much deeper and Tony let out another obscene moan, knowing it wasn’t an appropriate answer and praying Mike would call him out on it. “I asked you…a _question.”_ He released his grip with one hand just long enough to slap Tony’s thigh, making Tony’s entire body start to shake. When Tony still didn’t answer him, Mike smacked him again—then a third time until Tony couldn’t take anymore.

It was good. It was all _so_ good, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. 

Tony leaned back, pressing his spine into Mike’s chest and groaning as he felt Mike press down on him harder. 

“What? Are you trying to get away from me?” Mike asked, wrapping his arms around Tony’s torso instead and squeezing him.

“No,” Tony said as a violent shiver of pleasure wracked his body. 

“You sure? You’re squirming around an awful lot for someone who isn’t trying to get away.” Mike pressed a few wet kisses to the back of Tony’s neck, rocking his hips a little gentler as he waited for Tony’s reply. He was afraid he’d hurt him and was trying to make up for it.

Tony couldn’t allow that.

“More,” Tony whined, pressing his hips back and rolling them, hoping to get the angle right but it just didn’t work. 

Mike responded by grabbing Tony’s hips again and yanking him backwards, going deeper but still not _right._

Tony couldn’t stand it. It was driving him crazy to have Mike _so close_ but not getting what he needed from him—and oh how badly he _needed_ it.

Without giving himself much time to think, Tony jerked forward, causing Mike’s cock to slide out of him with a wet pop.

Before Mike could even ask him if he was okay or what was wrong, Tony had rolled onto his back and pulled Mike down over top of him. He wrapped his legs around Mike’s hips and started kissing him deeply, one hand squeezing Mike’s shoulder blade and the other slipping through the stands of hair on the back of his neck. 

Mike kissed him back just as passionately, working his tongue alongside Tony’s and moaning as he rolled their hips together. When he finally pressed back inside, Tony was panting for breath and squirming. It had been too fucking long since he’d gotten to do this—too long since he’d trusted anyone to see him come undone like this. Part of him was still afraid Mike was about to tell him to stop making so much noise or tell him to hold still instead of trying to move himself in a way to get pleasure.

Tony looked up at Mike through lidded eyes, watching the way his lip curled as he drove his hips forward again and again. How did he get this lucky? 

The thought was in his head for only a moment before lights started flashing behind his eyes. Mike finally, _finally_ found his spot and the pleasure caught him by so much surprise he choked instead of moaning like he meant to.

“Sorry, Baby,” Mike said, mistaking the noise for one of pain. 

Tony felt panic tug at his chest when Mike started moving slower, his angle changing again in a way that left Tony feel empty instead of fulfilled. He let out a soft whimper and pulled Mike down over him again, rolling his hips in a desperate attempt to get that pressure back. Mike leaned down to kiss him, thrusting his cock deeper inside as Tony licked his way into Mike’s mouth. He spread his legs, inviting Mike to fuck him harder, deeper—any way he’d like. 

Only Mike just couldn’t get it right, not after Tony had choked anyway. He thought that spot hurt him when nothing was further from the truth and Tony didn’t know how to speak to beg him to do it again. He’d lost his chance to ask for it and now he was laying on the bed shaking, feeling pain and pleasure but not the _one thing_ he needed.

He couldn’t take it. It wasn’t enough.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike couldn’t believe it. If anyone had told him his shy little Turtle fucked like a porn star, he would’ve told them to keep dreaming. But it was true. God, was it true! From the moment it started, Tony was everything Mike could’ve asked for in an _equal_ partner. He was submissive in all the right ways, and dominating in all the right ways… He was vocal and active—he participated. He didn’t just lay there and let it happen like Stephan. 

Tony would kiss him, Tony would stroke his hair or clutch at his back. Tony would roll his hips and try to take Mike’s length deeper. He was needy and seemed desperate, but for what Mike couldn’t tell. They’d started with Tony on his stomach, but then he’d pushed Mike away and laid on his back. Then, when he’d gotten bored with that, Tony was pressing up against him again until Mike was sitting back on the bed and Tony was in his lap kissing him and bouncing up and down—fucking himself on Mike’s cock.

He looked so perfect like that. His eyes closed and his mouth hanging open as he let out sharp moans of pleasure. He had one hand on Mike’s chest and the other fisted in Mike’s hair—his fingers tightening and letting go in time with his motions. When Mike reached between them to start stroking him, the pleasured sound Tony let out of his throat was intoxicating.

No matter how badly Tony was trying to top from the bottom, Mike was still the one responsible for all the things he was feeling. He knew Tony adored him, not like Stephan. Tony was infatuated and Mike was more than willing to let him take control their first time if that was what he needed. Mike didn’t care whose back hit the mattress when they fucked—they hadn’t even finished yet and he was already ten times more satisfied then he had been with all his one night stands.

It was his only hope that Tony felt the same way, because it was starting to get concerning how often he was trying to change their positions. It started on his stomach, then his back, then in Mike’s lap, then he had Mike laying down and was riding him with his head tossed back—hands grasping at Mike’s sweaty chest. 

He let out that choked noise again, the one Mike thought for sure was a sound of pain, but then his whole body shuddered and he rolled his hips the same way again, that choked groan turning into a moan of pure bliss. 

So that’s what it was… Mike couldn’t find his spot. It came as a small blow to his ego, but Mike didn’t let it discourage him. He just laid back and watched the show, holding Tony’s hips just to feel his perfect skin slipping underneath his palms. 

He could get off watching Tony like this, watching the way his engorged cock bounced up and down with every movement—watching the precome dribbling out and leaving glistening strings connecting the wet head of his cock to Mike’s belly. 

Tony was getting close. Mike could tell by how sharp his breaths were coming. He was so, so closed to edge and he’d barely touched his own dick at all. He was getting off from Mike alone, from having Mike inside him. 

That was enough to make up for Mike’s bruised ego.

Well, almost.

When Tony started slowing down, his body shaking with pleasure too much for him to be able to lift himself again, Mike took the opportunity to flip them over again, pinning Tony’s underneath him and pumping himself in and out until he _knew_ he’d struck Tony’s prostate.

His boyfriend practically screamed then, tossing his head back in the crumbled blankets at the foot of the bed. Mike pinned his wrists at his sides, holding them tightly as Tony arched his back. He watched Tony’s face, making sure that being held down didn’t scare him.

Tony didn’t even seem to notice. He was moaning and gasping and breathing out Mike’s name—like a perfect little porn star, no shyness or modesty left in him. 

When it was over, they stayed close—Mike still pinning Tony’s wrists down. Tony didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily and nuzzled Mike’s shoulder. He didn’t mind Mike’s weight pressing down on him, just laid there completely satisfied. 

At least, Mike hoped he was. He hoped to God Tony was satisfied because he’d surely die if he never got the chance to do _that_ again. He’d never felt like that with anyone—not even Stephan. And he’d thought for sure he’d loved Stephan.

Now, he was starting to doubt that. Maybe what he’d felt wasn’t love at all.

Mike shook his head to push the thoughts away and let go of Tony’s wrists, moving to lay at his boyfriend’s side. Tony moved with him, though, snuggling against him and kissing Mike’s neck over and over in between his heavy breaths.

“You all good, Turtle?” Mike asked, ruffling his boyfriend’s soaking wet hair. 

Tony didn’t even give a verbal answer. Not really. He nestled closer, getting Mike to put an arm around his shoulders, and then sighed deeply.

Mike jostled him a little, knowing Tony deserved to rest after that, but he wanted to at least get a “that was great” or a “thank you” before they took a nap. 

Tony still didn’t speak, he just got closer and closer until he was laying on Mike’s chest and falling asleep. 

One day, Mike thought, he was going to train the other man to answer him the first time he asked a question. One day… And Mike could already tell that it was going to be one hell of a scene when he did.


	6. Chapter 6

Mike had gotten frustrated with Tony many times—many, many times—even before they were officially dating. But he’d never actually gotten _mad_ at him until now. 

After four months together, Mike had yet to step foot in Tony’s apartment and he was sick of it. He was sick of Tony making up excuse after excuse for why they had to be at Mike’s place instead. Oh, it was dirty, he’d say—Or, “oh, they’re fumigating today.” Mike finally had enough and he was sorry it had to be an ultimatum, but it was Tony’s own fault for being so stubborn.

He wanted to know what it was that his boyfriend was trying to hide from him—whether it was drugs or excessive drinking or another _boyfriend_ who lived with him. Hell, for all Mike knew, Tony could be married with two kids and a third on the way. That was how damned adamant he was about keeping Mike out of his apartment and as far away from it as possible. 

He gave Mike no other _choice._

“Let me in your apartment or we’re finished. I’m not doing this anymore.”

Tony’s head snapped up so fast and he stared at Mike with so much hurt, but Mike wasn’t backing down. He was angry and he said what he meant. There was no reason to have this sort of secrecy between them and Mike wasn’t going to put up with it—no matter how good in bed Tony could be.

“But… I-I told you. The—”

“Yeah, I know what you’ve told me. But it’s bullshit. You know it. _I_ know it. It’s lies. You’re _lying_ to me.” Mike stared him straight in the eyes, not letting his gaze soften when Tony’s face filled with hurt.

“I-I don’t mean to. I—”

“Every time you open your mouth with a bullshit excuse about why I can’t see your apartment, you’re _meaning_ to lie. Every single time. And it makes me wonder, Tony. It really does. If you’ll lie about your apartment, what else are you lying to me about?”

“Nothing!” Tony said, looking at Mike as if he’d just been slapped.

“Then show me your apartment.”

“I don’t see why you want to go there so bad. Your place is nice—”

“We’ve been together _four months._ I have a right to see where you live! What are you trying to hide from me?”

“Nothing…”

“You’re _lying!_ Quit lying to me! What is it you don’t want me to see? Who do you have living with you?”

“No one! Mike, I’ve told you! It’s… It’s not a good place. I-I have a bad apartment. It was all I could afford when I left Jose.”

“I don’t care how slummy your neighborhood is. I want to see where you _live.”_

“Fine,” Tony said, looking like he was genuinely about to cry. “Can I at least clean it up first?”

“I want to go right now, actually. I want to go right now before you can hide whatever it is you don’t want me to see in there. I’m sick of this, Tony. I’m _always_ honest with you. I’m always transparent. What you see is what you get with me. I don’t even know who you are half the time—are you playing games with me or are you just that shy? I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“I-I’m not trying to _deceive_ you. I just… I don’t live in a good place.” The shame which covered his face as he said it told Mike there was at least some truth in the statement. 

“If that’s all there is to it, you don’t have anything to be afraid of. I’m not going to judge you for having less money than me. You know that doesn’t matter to me.”

Mike stared at him, but Tony didn’t give a response. He kept quiet until Mike demanded his address. Tony gave it up without further argument, but the entire drive to his apartment complex, he sat in the passenger seat of Mike’s car looking like he was about to get sick.

Clearly, _clearly_ he had something to hide.

It took about twenty minutes to reach Tony’s apartment building, and though the neighborhood wasn’t the best, Mike wouldn’t exactly call it a slum. It was just crowded and dirty the way all high-traffic areas were.

Mike let Tony take a moment to compose himself after he’d parked the car. He watched the way Tony struggled to keep his breaths even, the way he squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain. Mike wanted to believe that he was overreacting—it was just like Tony to panic over nothing—but this seemed too serious. This wasn’t nerves, this was _terror._

“Are you ready to go in yet or do you still need a minute?” Mike asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. 

Maybe Tony did have a problem of some kind. Maybe he drank too much or depended on a drug of some sort. If he just needed _help,_ Mike didn’t want it to end them.

“I… I don’t care,” Tony said, his voice a heavy sigh as he unfastened his seatbelt and pushed open the passenger door. 

Mike rolled his eyes and got out of the car as well, slamming the door to take out a bit of his frustrations as Tony led him toward the building.

“I’m on the fourth floor. Apartment 320A. It’s a studio,” Tony said as they started climbing the steps. No elevator, Mike noted, and the hand rail along the stairs was filthy—dirt, grease, grime, and gum stuck all along it. The place was dirtier than Mike cared for, but it wasn’t exactly the worst he’d ever seen and nothing for Tony to be ashamed of.

When they got to the door of 320A, Tony’s hands were shaking so badly that he dropped his keys twice before Mike grabbed them and unlocked the door on his behalf. He was about to turn the knob when Tony grabbed his wrist and squeezed it hard. 

“Please don’t. Just give me a chance to clean up first. You can come by tomorrow.”

“I already told you. Either I see it today, or we’re over. Simple as that. I’m done _playing_ with you. What the hell are you so scared of?” Mike asked, turning the knob and pushing open the door. 

The first thing which struck him after the door had opened was a foul smell, a sour smell. It wasn’t overpowering at first, but it was definitely present and was enough to make Mike’s stomach clench. Tony must’ve noticed it too because he cringed and bowed his head.

Mike didn’t say anything, trying to hold off on judgment. He didn’t know what was wrong with this apartment—if the plumbing backed up or fridge had quit working and left food to spoil—and he didn’t want Tony to feel _horrible_ if it was a little rundown. It proved harder to keep from feeling sick the further he walked through the doorway. 

The place was completely dark, only the smallest cracks of light coming in through the gaps between the heavy curtains over the two windows. Mike felt around on the wall for a light, but nothing happened once he flipped the switch. He toggled the switch a few more times before determining that the bulb was burnt out, then sighed as he started for the windows.

“Mike, wait!” Tony called, following after him. 

Mike tripped countless times before he finally crossed the small living area, his feet getting tangled in what felt like clothes and slipping on papers. With each step his patience grew thinner and thinner. That God-awful smell grew worse the further into the apartment he walked, he stumbled over glass bottles and plastic bottles. The place was a dump—a trash heap—and Mike was well _beyond_ pissed off about it.

“Please—Please, we can come back tomorrow,” Tony kept begging, chasing after him and daring to get between Mike and the windows and stop Mike from uncovering them. “Please, Mike.”

“No. Get out of the way.” 

When Tony still didn’t move, Mike pushed past him and grabbed the curtains, pulling them open. He uncovered the first window, then moved over to the second and yanked the drapes apart as well. Tony shrank back as Mike turned around to survey the room.

Immediately, he felt sick to his stomach—anger and disgust and hurt ripping through him all at once as he took in the mess. It wasn’t just cluttered or messy. The apartment was trashed. It didn’t look like a home; it didn’t look like anyone _lived_ there. There were bottles everywhere, cans everywhere… Paper plates sat on what could have been a coffee table if it weren’t piled high with mail and notebooks and ceramic plates with cutlery set aside. The couch was piled with clothes except for one small space where Tony must’ve sat to watch television—if he even watched the TV considering it was buried as well. A hoodie was hanging off the corner of the screen as if it were a coatrack. 

Mike stared at it, pressing his lips together hard as he fought to keep from screaming. He didn’t understand. Tony treated his house like a fucking palace—cleaning everything, doing all the dishes, picking up every small, tiny thing that was out of place.

Then he came home to _this?_ He lived like _this?_ Why?

Mike couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around it, and he knew it he tried to ask he’d just end up screaming.

The apartment was small, but it felt cramped with all the shit Tony had laying around and piling up. It was no wonder it smelled so goddamned bad, either. The kitchen area was a nightmare. More paper plates, more ceramic plates and dishes on the counters and over-flowing in the sink. Tony had a dishwasher, but Mike bet it was full as well—full of used plates and cookware that Tony never bothered to actually clean.

There was a trashcan by the end of the counter and the sight of it almost made Mike gag. It was full and over flowing, then there were three tied off bags sitting beside it that Tony hadn’t taken out. Mike stared at it, watched the tiny black gnats swarm around it, and swallowed hard. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to grab Tony and shake him and ask him what the hell he was thinking living like this.

He treated Mike’s apartment _so well._ How could he just be too lazy to pick up his own apartment?

“Tony?” Mike said, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Yeah?” Tony’s voice was so small, and when Mike turned to look at him, his boyfriend was cowering by the doorway. He had his arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold, his eyes fixed nervously on Mike. 

There was something _wrong_ with him. Mike had known that all along, but he’d never imagined that it was this bad—that he’d let it get this far. 

“Where do you sleep?” Mike asked.

“In my room?” Tony asked, as if he didn’t understand the question. “Can we leave?”

Mike ignored him and turned toward the door across the living room. He made his way to it, stepping over beer bottles and more clothing. There was so much stuff… Did he just undress in the middle of his apartment and leave his clothes there?—Then did he go buy new ones since he clearly never did any laundry? 

“I-I don’t want you to go in there!” Tony said, suddenly at Mike’s side and grabbing him. Mike shrugged him off and pushed the door open. It was pitch black in that room as well, but at least when he flipped the switch the lights came on.

Mike hadn’t realized he’d been hoping the illness was confined to the living room and kitchen until he felt the disappointment sink in. He hadn’t realized just how much worse he’d feel when he saw a plain mattress laying on the floor in one corner, piled with blankets and clothes. The floor, at least, was picked up, but there were cups and half-empty bottles of water lined up in rows beside the head of the mattress. There were more bottles on the dresser and an overturned cup that had spilled something dark and sticky down one side of the wooden furniture before staining the floor. 

“Mike, please. Let’s just go. I’m sorry for all this. I’ll clean it. I _promise._ I-I will.” Tony kept talking to him, but Mike couldn’t hold onto anything he said.

He was staring at the bed again; the mattress on the floor surrounded by so much water. 

Dead bugs floated at the top of the cups.

There were bugs crawling on him when he slept, climbing into the cups he never bothered to empty or put away.

Every morning at Mike’s apartment, if Tony slept over, he’d make the bed—he’d clean up the sheets and the end table. Make sure every single small piece of trash ended up where it was supposed to go. Then he came home to this?

If he wasn’t sleeping over, there were bugs crawling on him in his bed… 

Mike stepped closer to the bed, staring down at the pile of blankets. He pulled it aside, revealing a sad, flattened pillow and a cockroach that scurried away between the mattress and wall to hide. Mike recoiled, throwing the blanket aside and backing away from the bed before he turned to Tony.

“What the hell is this!?” He screamed. “You’ll clean my apartment but you don’t bother with your own? This is _disgusting,_ Tony! How do you live like this!?”

Tony stared at him, those brown eyes Mike loved so much holding nothing but fear. 

“I want an answer! How do you live like this? There are _roaches_ in your bed. They’re in your water, they’re in your _clothes!_ Then you bring them to my place.”

“No I don’t,” Tony said, his eyebrows coming together in a stern glare.

“Yes you do! They get into everything! Don’t you understand that? All it takes is one hitching a ride in your pocket and then _I_ have roaches too!”

“I wouldn’t let that happen, Mike! I don’t wear these clothes to your house. I keep them separated.”

“In what, vacuum sealed bags?” Mike asked, stepping around Tony and going to the open doorway across from the mattress. 

It led into the bathroom, and when Mike flipped the switch he was almost left speechless.

Clean.

The _one room_ that was clean. The sink was clean, the toilet looked absolutely spotless, and minus a few, pink soap scum stains the shower was damned near impeccable. There were three plastic tubs lined up by the wall under the towel rack. The smallest was a clear container set on the top with two pairs of shoes locked inside with room for one extra pair. 

“What’s in these?” Mike asked, tapping the dark grey containers under them. 

“My laundry,” Tony said. “I told you. I keep it separated. I don’t want bugs in your apartment. I-I care about you—I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Well I care about you, and this place makes me fucking sick. How do you live like this?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said.

“You obviously do know or you wouldn’t be in this place! You clean _my_ apartment, why not yours? Just take the fucking trash out once in a while! Just get a laundry basket—go to the laundromat!” It sounded so easy to him, but the more commands he yelled—the more forceful suggestions he threw out—the lower Tony’s gaze dropped until he was pressed back against the door frame with his hand over his eyes. “Tony, I’m not trying to be mean here, but this is _wrong._ You shouldn’t be living like this. If you can clean my place, why not yours?” Mike tried using a softer tone of voice, but it didn’t matter. Tony didn’t answer him or lower his hand. “Tony… You know this isn’t right.”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to come here! You didn’t have to see this!”

“I was going to find out eventually. Did you honestly expect us to stay together if you never let me see where you live? I thought you were living with someone else! I thought you had something else going on here.”

“I would _never_ cheat on you. You _know_ that,” Tony said, his voice breaking.

He was crying…

Good, Mike thought. Maybe now that the curtains were open and the lights were on, he was forced to see what he was doing to himself—forced to see that it was _wrong_ and he deserved better.

“Honestly, I would have rather come in here and found some other guy than see all of this,” Mike said.

“If you want an excuse to leave me, just go!”

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m telling you this _upsets_ me. I don’t like seeing my boyfriend live like this! I don’t like seeing my _boyfriend_ sleep with cockroaches in his fucking pillow when I know he deserves better than that!”

Still, Tony wouldn’t uncover his eyes. He’d gone quiet and was pressing back hard into the doorframe like he was trying to disappear into it.

“Tony… Tony, look at me.”

Tony dropped his hand and stared at Mike with a strange bitterness in his expression. He was embarrassed and ashamed and he didn’t like Mike being able to see him so vulnerable. He was forcing Tony to open up, but instead of feeling like he’d finally drawn his turtle out of its shell, Mike felt as if he’d been pulled inside of it. Pulled into the dark cave where he kept all his secrets.

“I… I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself. I’m… I’m _confused.”_

“You’re _mad at me,”_ Tony said, still keeping his eyes locked with Mike’s.

“I’m mad, but not at _you._ I’m mad that you’re in this place. I’m mad it got this bad without me ever even noticing. Do you not realize how much I _care_ about you?”

Tony looked away then. He turned his eyes toward the wall and didn’t answer.

That said enough—that said “no.” No, Tony didn’t understand that Mike cared about him at all.

“How would you feel if this were my apartment, Tony?” Mike asked.

“I wouldn’t let your apartment look like this,” Tony quietly answered.

“And I’m expected to let you live this way?”

Silence.

“Answer me. Do you really think I’d be worth a damn as a boyfriend or a Dom if I let you keep living like this?”

“It’s not your apartment. It shouldn’t matter how I live.”

It made him snap. The way Tony looked as he said it—indifferent, _defiant_ —it pissed him off so much. He wanted to smack him. He wanted to grab Tony by his arms and shake him. But all he could do was clench his fist and glare at him, reminding himself that it wasn’t okay to slap him no matter what they got into when they were in bed.

“It does matter!”

“I told you I keep the clothes I wear to work and to your place separate. You can see that.” Still, his tone was indifferent. He was pushing back all of his emotions, trying to keep himself from showing any of that vulnerability again, but all it did was make Mike even angrier.

“I don’t give a shit about the bugs! I’m talking about _you!_ I’m talking about how shitty it makes me feel that you clean up after me like I’m some fucking king and then I find out you live like this!—That you don’t care about _yourself_ even a little bit!”

“Don’t yell at me,” Tony mumbled, staring at the wall.

“What does it matter if I yell!? You’re making it clear that you don’t think you’re worthy of being treated like a human being, so why _shouldn’t_ I yell at you!? You don’t deserve to any better, right?”

Silence. It was a maddening silence as Tony continued to stare at the wall though blinking rapidly as he fought tears, ripples of pain going across his face. He didn’t argue.

“Stand _up to me!_ Come on, Tony… You’re better than this. You’re worth more than this…”

Tony didn’t believe it though. That was why he stayed silent. 

“What would Jaime say if he saw you living like this? Do you think he’d be happy with you either?” Mike asked. If saying he was upset over it wasn’t enough, maybe the thought of his best friend might do it. After all, Jaime had essentially saved his life. He wouldn’t want to see Tony living it like this.

“No…”

“What do you think he’d do if he came here and saw this?” When Tony didn’t answer, Mike repeated the question again.

“He’d be mad, alright!? What do you want me to say? I know I shouldn’t have let it get this bad, but I can’t _help it!_ I tried to keep up with it. I tried, but I don’t…”

“You don’t see the point?” Mike suggested when Tony’s sentence bled off into silence. “You don’t deserve to live like this, Tony. People _care_ about you. _I_ care about you. I don’t want you living in a trash heap.” 

Tony was still staring quietly at the wall. He looked so closed off, like he didn’t _want_ to be told that he was better than this place. It was absolutely _infuriating._ If Tony couldn’t bother to care for himself, it sent the message that Mike shouldn’t try caring about him either. What was the point when he clearly didn’t appreciate it? 

But it was too easy to just get angry at him. It would be easy to yell at him, tell him to get his shit together, and then leave him here alone in his wrecked apartment. It would be easy to tell Vic in their next phone call all about how he’d been right all along, that Tony _wasn’t_ right for him in any way. 

It would be easy, but it wasn’t what Mike wanted. He didn’t like _this._ He didn’t like that Tony cared so little for himself that he let his apartment fall into squalor, but took the time and effort to seal up the clothes he took to Mike’s home to keep the bugs out and hide the issue from him. 

He cared about Mike, but not himself… 

It would be easy to give up on him, find someone else—someone a little more stable—but Mike didn’t want to take that route. He’d invested too much in Tony, saw too much potential in him to just back out now. He thought about the ad Tony had posted all those months ago. He thought about how shy and self-conscious Tony had been, how he thought himself undeserving of a Dom, how he thought of himself as not good enough for anyone or anything that he wanted…

It was no wonder he felt that way when this was what he came home to, and it was so clear to Mike now why Tony had wanted a Dom to begin with. It wasn’t about the culture, it wasn’t about wanting hurt or reprimanded. He wanted someone to hold him accountable—someone to force him into caring again.

He needed someone to get him back on track. 

He needed a Dom to tell him what to do.

“I don’t understand this behavior, Tony. I’m… Honestly, I’m disappointed in you right now. If you can keep your bathroom _this_ clean, there’s no reason you can’t do the same with your kitchen or your bedroom _at least.”_

Tony didn’t say anything, but that was expected. He stared at the ground, looking small and hurt like a child. 

“Tony… Listen to me. I’m not going to say I understand what you’re going through. I don’t think anyone can. But I’m here for you, alright? I want you to get through this. I want to _help_ get you through this. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want to leave… You weren’t supposed to come here.”

“Stop with that fucking attitude!” Mike snapped. Tony’s head shot up and he stared at Mike fearfully, backing up a step when Mike moved toward him. He seized Tony by the wrist, squeezing it tightly, and then pulled him back through the bedroom and into the living room. “Look at this mess! Do you see this?”

“Yes!” Tony cried, pulling at his arm and trying to get free of Mike’s grip.

“Stop fighting me and _look!”_ Mike jerked Tony’s wrist again, pulling him toward the couch piled high with clothes. “Look at it!”

“I see it!” Tony said, his voice rough with pain and fear. Mike knew it wasn’t right to terrify him, not with all things that had happened to Tony in the past, but he didn’t know how else to get him to realize what he was doing was wrong—or how wrong. 

“This is not _alright,_ Tony. I care about you way too fucking much to let you treat yourself like this. Now either you can start picking this up right now yourself or _I’m_ doing it for you!”

He let go of Tony’s arm and started grabbing the clothes off the couch, grimacing when he touched the fabric and pulled each article free of the pile. He saw bugs crawling on it, saw dead roaches roll off onto the floor and felt sick to his stomach. Tony watched it too, his round eyes wide in shock as he stood there and stammered.

“Mike—Mike, please don’t. _Please_ don’t touch that. Don’t!” Tony got between Mike and the couch, pulling one of the discarded sweaters out of Mike’s hand. “I don’t want you to touch that.”

“Why?” Mike asked, staring Tony in the eyes.

“Because it’s dirty—it’s not clean!”

_“Exactly._ Do you see now why I don’t like you living like this? You don’t like me touching things because they’re dirty—imagine how I feel for a moment. Imagine how _I_ feel seeing you live like this. Imagine how _Jaime_ would feel!”

Tony looked away from him again, his expression bitter at the mere mention of his best friend—the friend who saved his life and would no doubt be enraged to see him wasting it like this.

“Now I want you to pick up all these clothes. _All of them._ Do you hear me?”

“I will,” Tony mumbled, staring at the pile on his couch with that same irritation in his eyes.

“Now! _Right_ now! Pick them up if you don’t want me touching them.” Mike wasn’t going to let him start copping an attitude. He knew Tony was in pain, he knew he was ill and depressed, but he’d asked for a Dom and Mike was going to give him _exactly_ what he asked for. Tough love and nothing else—no tenderness until he earned it. “Pick them up!” Mike shouted when Tony didn’t move.

“And put them where?” Tony asked, shaking his head. “In another pile somewhere else? What’s the point? There’s nowhere for them to go!”

“They’re going to the laundromat! Get them together and find something to put them in.”

“I don’t have anything—”

“Tony, you’re already getting a hundred for how bad this place looks. Every time you backtalk me, you’ve earned another ten. Do what I said or pay for it later.” 

His eyes went wide as soon as Mike said it, shock resonating in every angle of his face. Mike didn’t pity him though and he wouldn’t let the fear in his boyfriend’s eyes discourage him. Tony wanted a Dom, Mike would give him a Dom. Keeping his apartment this filthy was bad behavior—and bad behavior earned punishment. 

When Tony still didn’t move to pick up the clothes off the couch, Mike grabbed another sweater off the couch.

“Mike, don’t! I’ll pick them up. Please don’t touch any more. I can’t stand it—just stop! I’ll find something to put them in. I’ll go to the laundromat, just _please_ stop touching my things!”

“Fine. Get something to put them in,” Mike said, letting the sweater drop back onto the cushion and crossing his arms over his chest. He watched as Tony looked around a moment before he went over to the cupboard and started digging around until he pulled out a box of trash can liners. He had supplies to clean, to keep his apartment clean, he just didn’t use them.

That was infuriating on its own.

Mike could understand it if Tony had run out of trash bags and couldn’t work up the motivation to go get them, but to just let the trash pile up when he had liners in the cupboard…it was inexcusable. Either he was depressed _and_ lazy, or the illness had gotten to be so much that Tony didn’t even _function_ when he was on his own—not any more than what it took to drink water and toss the bottles on the floor once he was done.

“Now I want you to shake the clothes out, get the bugs and shit off them, then put them in the bag, alright?” Mike said, taking the box of liners out of Tony’s hands and pulling free one of the bags.

“Okay,” Tony mumbled, shame keeping his voice barely audible as he slowly obeyed. He picked up the shirts Mike had dropped on the floor and shook them a few times before balling them up and stuffing them into the trash bag. After only a few minutes, the couch was cleared and Mike made him start picking up the clothes on the floor throughout the living area.

“Do you have any clothes in your dresser? We may as well take them while we’re at it.”

“My dresser’s empty,” Tony mumbled.

“Let’s just check and make sure,” Mike said, not meaning to come off harsh but it made Tony roll his eyes. “Watch your attitude.”

He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. Tony’s eyes locked with his and all that shame and embarrassment had vanished, leaving only anger and bitterness.

“I don’t want you going through every drawer in my apartment. This is _my_ apartment! This is _my_ stuff! I don’t want you getting into _everything that’s mine!_ I have a right to fucking privacy! You can’t force your way in here and take everything over! This is _my_ apartment!”

“Okay. You’re right—I’m sorry,” Mike said, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He _was_ right and it hadn’t been Mike’s intention to disrespect him or make him feel like his home had been invaded. He just didn’t want him living in squalor wondering if there were cockroach eggs in his favorite jeans.

“I’ll clean it up because you asked me to, but you can’t search my things!”

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I’m sorry,” Mike repeated. “I just want to help you, Turtle. Alright? I’m trying to help. I don’t want to see all your clothes getting ruined by roaches. I thought if we were already going to the laundromat, we’d just take whatever you have that’s out. We don’t have to do that right now, though. Let’s just take what we have now, okay? Is that alright?”

Tony was still glaring at him, breathing heavy through his anger. Mike didn’t want to push him too hard. This situation was dire and _bad,_ but he didn’t want it to be what broke them apart. What would happen if he left Tony alone in a place like this? Eventually it would jeopardize his health if it hadn’t already—eventually he’d get sick from it. Mike genuinely believed that Tony could _die_ from staying in this awful place all alone. He couldn’t let that happen… He cared too much.

“We’ll just take these for now,” Mike said, tying off the two bags of clothes Tony had gathered.

“That’s fine,” Tony said softly, calming down a little. His defenses were still high and Mike could see it in his posture and his eyes, but he seemed to understand that he wasn’t under attack. He was beginning to understand that Mike wasn’t trying to control him or invade his space—or at least Mike hoped so.

“I know you’re mad at me right now, but I’m doing this because I care about you. I think you’re really great, Tony. I think you’re smart and you’re talented… There’s no reason a guy as good as you should be living like this. I want you to see how much more you deserve.”

Tony lowered his gaze, then cringed and looked over his shoulder at his kitchenette.

“That’s next,” Mike said. “Where’s the garbage chute?”

“There’s one by 300B,” Tony mumbled. “Outside to the right.”

Mike knew they couldn’t get the entire apartment cleaned in a day, but he wanted it picked up. He wanted the laundry collected, and he wanted the trash off the counters and floors. Maybe another day the dishes would be washed—maybe that would be Tony’s homework the next time Mike left him alone in the small space.

God, who was he kidding? He couldn’t even stand the thought of Tony sleeping here another night.

“Let’s leave these by the door and then we’ll take those bags to the trash, alright?” Mike suggested, setting the bags of clothing down next to front door.

“That’s fine,” Tony muttered, not moving from his place next to the couch until Mike started for the trash can and the swarm of gnats surrounding it. “I can get it!” He called, hurrying over then and placing himself between Mike and the trashcan.

It hurt. Mike found it odd that it hurt him so much to know that Tony would let himself live in filth but couldn’t bear the thought of Mike so much as touching his trashcan. He acted as if Mike were some kind of king—some noble too honorable to get his hands dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it seems like Tony is some kind of hoarder, but he really just has severe depression--though I guess the two often go hand-in-hand. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Tony was shaking he was so nervous, so wrecked with anxiety he could barely even breathe though Mike promised him he’d be okay. He trusted Mike, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid of what his partner could be capable of. They’d only ever had small scenes before, never a full session, and Tony wasn’t prepared at all to learn what a real punishment could entail. 

He knew his apartment was bad. He knew it was his fault. He knew he needed to do better for himself and try harder, but finding the motivation was so difficult. He just didn’t see the point. In the beginning, he’d tried to keep his place picked up and tidy, but the roaches took over everything regardless of his efforts. He did dishes often, kept all his food in sealed containers… Nothing mattered. The bugs were there and no amount of scrubbing or spraying or bombing helped. 

Jaime stopped coming over because of it, stating he couldn’t risk bringing the bugs back to his place, but encouraged Tony to spend time at his apartment instead. Shortly after Jaime quit visiting, Tony quit cleaning. If the apartment repulsed his bed friend when it was clean, what did it matter if it grew cluttered? What did it matter if the roaches got into everything?—They were into everything already.

He made an attempt to start picking up the place when Mike began showing interest in coming over, but felt so defeated. He’d spend hours just staring at the overwhelming mess that his living space had become, starting to feel the anxiety kick in until his heart was pounding so hard he had to sit down. Then he’d need to lay down and by that point there was no getting back up.

He’d described all of this to Mike when they were at the laundromat (after he’d gotten another thirty added to his punishment for getting “lippy” when Mike was “trying to help”). As the clothes were going through the dryer, Mike had asked yet again why Tony let it get so bad. He sounded sincere this time, less aggravated, and Tony felt safe enough to explain it. He told Mike about the panic attacks, about Jaime not wanting to come over, about wanting a different apartment and not being able to afford it.

“Well, I’m going to help you,” Mike said. “We’re going to get through this.” He put his arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him closer, and Tony rested his head against Mike’s shoulder up until the dryers were done. He’d started to feel so comfortable, and now he felt so sick. 

He knew he deserved it, but he didn’t want Mike to hurt him. He didn’t want their first scene to be like this, but who was he to tell Mike to stop? Who was he to tell Mike he wasn’t ready for this? He’d asked to be in this lifestyle and he didn’t get to make demands. Besides, if he tried to back out, Mike was going to see that he wasn’t a worthy submissive—he was just a tease, a coward.

Deep down, as well, he felt that getting beaten wasn’t going to help him find the motivation to clean his apartment. Maybe the threat would help encourage him to _keep_ it clean, but it wasn’t as if he’d let it get so bad on purpose. He didn’t want one hundred and thirty swats to remind him that he’d fucked up and his whole life was a mess. 

“Come here,” Mike said, gesturing for Tony to follow him into the bedroom. He’d been stoic since they’d gotten back from the laundromat, barely even talking after dropping Tony’s laundry off at his apartment before returning to his place. Tony knew Mike was psyching himself up for the scene they were about to have, but it made him more nervous to have his formerly supportive boyfriend who had just been holding him and reassuring him turn quiet and dismissive. 

When they reached the bedroom, Mike immediately pulled his black case out from under his bed and opened it. Tony swallowed hard as he watched Mike take the various implements out one by one, making a display of them even if he wasn’t about to use them (though he was certain to keep the leather items out of sight). 

“Pick the one you think you deserve,” Mike said, stepping back and gesturing to the neat row of small paddles he’d taken out of the case. Just the sight of them made Tony’s stomach flip, a stark contrast to the last time he’d snuck a peak at the contents of the black case while Mike was in the shower. He’d been intrigued then. Now he was just terrified.

The smallest was shaped like a hairbrush, made of solid wood and about two inches think. There was a similar one made of thin, durable plastic but seeing it among the lineup of much heavier implements told Tony it was there to trick him. This was a test, not an offering. If he chose wrong, it was likely he’d be getting the one at the end of the lineup, a heavy wooden paddles with wide holes drilled into it…

The kind of holes that would leave marks and draw blood.

Mike remembered that he didn’t like blood, right? 

Tony looked at him nervously, checking Mike’s expression. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t the coldness looking back at him. 

“Pick. You’ve got thirty seconds before I choose for you.”

Tony felt his stomach flip again and he quickly looked back at the row of paddles—all various sizes, all looking harsh and unforgiving. He was scared to pick, afraid the “right answer” Mike was looking for was the one on the end. 

He couldn’t do this…

He didn’t want this.

“Pick, Tony. You’ll be alright.”

Tony flinched when he suddenly felt Mike touching him. It was a gentle hand on his shoulder, but it sent tremors down his spine as he slowly reached for one of the paddles in the middle. It was thinner than the others, but wide. It’d hurt, but not as much as the heavier ones would. 

“Good boy,” Mike said, suddenly rubbing Tony’s shoulders before kissing the side of his neck. “That’s the one I was hoping you’d pick.” He pulled the paddle from Tony’s trembling hand and ordered him to put the rest of the paddles back in the case. As soon as he slipped the case back under the bed, he heard the distinct woosh of the paddle cutting through the air before it struck against his thighs. He cried out and stumbled forward against the bed, fear hitting harder than the paddle. “How many did you earn yourself today?” Mike asked, even though they both already knew.

It was with great difficulty that Tony stammered out the number. One hundred and thirty. He was already shivering and sick to his stomach, how was he going to take that many? God he hoped Mike would work up to it and wouldn’t start out brutal… He had no idea what Mike’s style was for spanking and the uncertainty wasn’t helping to soothe his anxiety.

“One hundred and thirty…” Mike repeated, disappointment heavy in his tone. It served to make Tony feel even worse. He wanted to go back to his apartment and never come out again. Didn’t Mike get that he was already humiliated? Didn’t he understand that he was already ashamed? “Bend over the bed. You can keep your jeans on… For now.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut as he slowly complied, letting Mike guide him down until he was in position on the bed.

“I want you to count each one, alright?” 

“Okay,” Tony whispered, not sure Mike even heard him. He was shaking so hard the bedframe creaked from it and nothing he told himself calmed him down. 

Even the gentle hand Mike placed at the middle of his back did nothing for him.

“It’s going to be alright, Tony. I won’t be too rough, okay? You remember our safeword?”

Tony nodded his head, even though he didn’t. They’d never established one. They’d always just use the stop light method, and though Tony felt that was what Mike was implying, he was still uncertain. What if he said red and that wasn’t the word Mike was looking for?

Hell, it didn’t matter if he said red or yellow or anything at all. Mike wasn’t going to stop… Not until he’d gotten out his frustrations and was certain Tony had learned his lesson. 

“Tell me when you’re ready and we’ll begin,” Mike said.

Tony felt his stomach jolt and had to swallow hard against it. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this terrible in his entire life. He was already so ashamed…what was he going to do with himself when he inevitably threw up on Mike’s bed?

“I-I think I’m ready,” Tony stammered when he managed to get his breathing a little more under control.

He took in a couple more choked breaths before he heard the unforgiving woosh of the paddle. He tensed as the thick piece of wood crashed against his thighs, pitching him forward against the edge of the bed. It wasn’t as hard as he expected it to be, but it still hurt and he whimpered softly before giving his count.

“One.” He managed to keep from stammering, but gasped a little once the word was out—suddenly fearful that Mike wanted to hear more. Perhaps a ‘one, thank you’ or at least a ‘one, sir.’ But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it before the paddle crashed against him again. “Two,” he said, cringing as the pain blossomed across the base of his thighs. It gave him some comfort—if that was even the right word—that Mike wasn’t giving it his all. He knew it would probably change as the beating progressed, but for now Mike seemed caring enough to ease into it no matter how angry he was.

By the twentieth blow, however, Tony was starting to regret having that thought at all. 

The hit was so hard Tony couldn’t help but cry out, feeling the wood of the paddle smash against his lower thighs, just beneath his sit-spot. He thrust himself forward on the bed, instinctively trying to get away from the white-hot pain but only succeeding in moving his punishment further.

The next thing he knew, Mike had ordered him to take his jeans down—and promised that he was finished going easy on him. 

Tony’s hands were shaking a he obeyed his Dom’s orders, slowly undoing his jeans and pushing them down his already bruised thighs leaving him with just his thin boxer briefs for protection—until Mike ordered them away too.

That first blow against his bare skin, the fifty-first hit, was what made the tears start and Tony hated himself for it. He’d never been made to feel this weak before from something as minor as a paddling. He couldn’t stand the way his body had started shaking or the way he flinched every time he heard the wooden paddle cut through the air before it smashed against him. 

He wanted this to stop. He was at his limit and he knew it, but he was terrified of what would happen if he spoke up. Mike would be disappointed; he’d get the idea that Tony was hardly a submissive at all and realize he wasn’t worth his time. Tony didn’t want to lose what they had because of his stupid apartment and his lowered pain tolerance. He used to be able to take beatings like this as if they were nothing—so why was he falling apart now?

He _refused_ to give in to it.

“You didn’t count that one… Do we need to start over?”

“N-No, sir!” Tony gasped, not even realizing what he’d done until Mike directed his attention to it. What number were they on? Fifty-two? Fifty-three? He apologized again and guessed fifty-two, hoping he was right—praying Mike wouldn’t add more strikes to his count.

If he did, Tony would say ‘yellow.’ He’d tell Mike he couldn’t handle it—that he was sorry, but he just wasn’t strong enough, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned or he wasn’t sorry for what he’d done wrong.

“Fifty-two. That’s right,” Mike said, smoothing his hand down Tony’s back gently. “Are you doing okay? Do you need water?”

Tony found himself nodding his head quickly. Jose had never stopped a beating to ask him if he wanted water and the fact Mike cared enough to offer left Tony feeling a little more at ease.

“Okay. Lay down on the bed. I’ll get you some. You’re doing so good, baby. Just stay calm.”

Tony waited for Mike to return, then swallowed down the water he was given in a matter of seconds. He hoped Mike would offer him more, but the man didn’t. He quietly set the empty glass aside before grabbing the paddle off the bed again and ordering Tony back into position.

When Tony hesitated, Mike’s expression darkened just a little but it was enough to make the other man’s stomach churn.

“Now. Or I add five more.”

Tony’s entire body shuddered and he slowly got back onto all fours, his knees spread apart before he lowered his chest back down against the sheets. 

Immediately, Tony regretted taking a break for the drink. The blow which followed seemed to hurt ten times more than the previous fifty-two. 

“F-Fifty-three,” Tony wheezed, his eyes scrunched up in pain. It’d been so long since anything like this had happened to him and he wasn’t used to coping with the pain like he used to be—not to mention he wasn’t feeling even the slightest bit turned on by it like normal. 

Mike swung the paddle again, crashing it against Tony’s ass firmly and sending a fireball of pain up his partner’s spine, making Tony’s entire body twitch before he cried out the number fifty-four. He had no time to recover before fifty-five, and the white-hot pain which followed near took all of the air out of his lungs. 

“What number are we on, Tony?” Mike asked, his hand rubbing up and down Tony’s spine in a way which somehow felt threatening as opposed to comforting. “Do you need a reminder?”

All Tony could do was breathe and shiver, his mind racing with so many thoughts and fears. 

“It’s fifty-five, Tony.” Mike’s voice sounded so far away, and all Tony could manage to do was mimic what his partner had said. Mike must’ve taken it as a gesture to continue, because he muttered something and the fifty-sixth spank burst against Tony’s left thigh. 

Tony didn’t know if Mike had struck a particularly deep bruise or if he’d broken skin, but the pain which followed took all the air out of his lungs and his mind went white with panic. He realized, in that moment, nothing was going to make Mike stop—not if he said yellow or red or tried to get up in run. Not that he could even feel his limbs to run.

He had the sense that he was bleeding—could feel something cold trickling down the curve of his thigh to the back of his knee. He anticipated the next blow, his heart speeding up as he gasped for breath. Each attempt was choked, as if someone were strangling—and all he could feel was wave after wave of pain and panic until the pressure in his chest got to be too much.

He tried to scream, tried hard to scream, but his throat was sealed and all he could do was let out a low choke—losing the last bits of air in his lungs.

And still, he could feel something wet trickling down his thigh.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mike dropped the paddle and hurriedly rubbed his hands down Tony’s back, trying to get him to calm down. Tony was hyperventilating, his breaths coming so sharp it was a wonder his lungs didn’t burst from being so full since he never seemed to exhale more than he took in. 

“Tony? Hey—Hey, Little Turtle. It’s okay. It’s done. We’re done—I’m not going to hurt you anymore. Okay? Tony?” Mike tried everything, but Tony kept shaking and then convulsing and making god-awful croaking sounds as he gasped for air. “Fuck, Tony… What happened? What’s wrong?”

It was hard not to let himself start to panic. He pushed a little on Tony’s back until he was laying completely down on the bed, then rolled him on his side and hurried to pull the blankets up around him. 

“Do you need water, Baby? Will water help?” Mike was at a complete loss when Tony wouldn’t answer. He had his eyes pressed closed and was shaking so uncontrollably, his hands clenched into fists at his chest. “Turtle? How can I help? I’m sorry, Tony—just tell me how to fix it,” Mike pleaded, rubbing Tony’s shoulder. 

He’d had submissives slip into head space before, even had one black out on him, but he’d never had a partner slip into shock—especially not from a paddling. He didn’t even think he’d been hitting that hard, but apparently he underestimated his strength. Tony didn’t seem like the type to exaggerate or act out for attention, and there was no way his trembling was faked or forced. 

Tony had gone into shock and there was nothing Mike could do…

He refilled the water glass and got a damp towel which he pressed to Tony’s forehead, wiping away the sweat. He continually whispered apologies, hoping Tony would open his eyes or slow down his breathing just a little. It was terrifying to watch and even more frightening not knowing how to help.

He didn’t want to have to call for an ambulance but he was starting to think he had to. Mike kissed Tony a few times on the cheek before kissing him on the lips. As soon as their mouths touched, Tony held his breath, not letting it out until Mike pulled away. It was the same when Mike kissed him again until, little by little, Tony started breathing more normally and his eyes slowly opened a crack. 

“You’re okay, Turtle. I’m not going to hurt you anymore, okay? You’ll be alright.”

Tony stared at him through his eyelashes, eyes still more closed than open. He didn’t look trusting—he looked afraid and Mike couldn’t handle that. He kissed him again and Tony closed his eyes again, body still trembling. 

“Can I get you something, Turtle?” Mike asked, only to have Tony whimper at him and roll over so his back was to Mike. “Tony?” Mike asked, sitting up. He felt a pang go through his chest, wounded that Tony wanted to turn away from him—afraid that his partner didn’t want to go to him for comfort, for aftercare. “I’ll get you some water, Baby,” Mike said, getting up from the bed and grabbing the glass off of the bedside table. 

He tried handing it off to Tony, but it didn’t work… He just closed his eyes tighter and shivered.

“I’m going to wait in the other room… Okay? Call me if you need me?” Mike said, at a loss for how else to help. Tony seemed to want left alone and if he was scared of Mike, as much as it hurt, being around him wouldn’t help. “I’ll be right there if you need me, okay?” Mike repeated, rubbing Tony’s shoulder one last time before setting the glass back down on the table and leaving the room.

Thirty minutes was all he could handle, sitting on the couch ringing his hands on the verge of a panic attack himself. He kept playing everything over in his mind, realizing it again and again that he should’ve stopped when they took the break for water. He should’ve stopped then—and if not then, he should’ve stopped when Tony quit counting. He should’ve quit… 

Why had he thought more than twenty-five was good for their first real scene anyway? It was stupid. He knew Tony was out of practice—that his pain tolerance had probably lowered in that span of time from leaving Jose to when they first hooked up. He had no business thinking Tony could handle so much force and impact… He hadn’t thought…

After thirty minutes, he went back into the bedroom. The glass of water was empty and he smiled just a little bit before taking the glass to the bathroom and refilling it. 

Tony was still shaking. Mike tried everything to get him to calm down, but nothing had worked at all. Tony was shivering and sniffling—not receptive at all to the comfort Mike was trying to give him outside of the glasses of water. He was beginning to feel he’d really hurt Tony, and that wasn’t what he’d wanted. It was never his plan to push Tony to his breaking point or traumatize him. He’d just wanted to hold him accountable, make sure he didn’t think it was okay to let his apartment get so bad and put his health at risk. Mike hadn’t meant to make his partner go into shock.

“Turtle?” He was rubbing Tony’s back beneath the blankets he had piled over them, trying to get his boyfriend to stop shivering so much—or at least roll over to face him. “Do you want some more water?”

“I’m fine,” Tony answered, shuddering even harder. 

“Turtle… I—I’m sorry,” Mike said, not sure if an apology would even help at this point. He wished Tony had said something sooner. It was never his intention to hurt him that badly. Tony had always bragged that he could handle a lot of impact—and he had for a while—but then something had gone wrong and he didn’t speak up. He just laid there and took it like he didn’t have a say at all…like he thought Mike wouldn’t listen if he used their safe word. 

“I’m okay,” Tony repeated. 

“You’re shaking,” Mike said, scooting closer and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of Tony’s neck. His entire body went rigid as soon as Mike made contact, then started shivering even harder. “Are you scared of me?” Mike asked, feeling his heart break just a little bit.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Tony said once more. 

“You’re not, Tony,” Mike said, moving to sit up in the bed. He wanted to offer aftercare. He wanted to hold him and kiss him and tell him he’d done so well, but Tony wasn’t having any of it. He would go rigid and tremble if Mike touched him and had jerked away when Mike tried to put a soothing lotion on his thighs. He didn’t want touched anymore, but Mike couldn’t handle seeing him like this.

Mike stayed sitting in bed watching Tony for what felt like hours, trying to decide what to do for him—trying to think of anything he could do to calm him down.

“I wish you’d told me it was too much,” Mike said quietly. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Turtle… But I don’t know how to help. What’s going to help?”

He expected Tony to dismiss him with another “I’m fine,” but his boyfriend just whimpered instead. It was a broken sound and Mike hated it. 

Why hadn’t he asked for Mike to stop sooner? Mike checked for signals that it was too much and hadn’t seen any. He’d been shaking from the moment his punishment started—how was he to know that was his tell that he wasn’t in the right mindset to continue? How was he supposed to know anything when Tony wouldn’t _talk._

“Tony… I think I’m going to go sleep on the couch for tonight. Okay? Give you some room to…to relax.” He hated saying it and he hated it even more as he lay across the cushions of his couch. He’d never slept apart from anyone after a scene. He always kept his partner close, even when it hadn’t been Stephan. He wanted to bond with Tony… He wanted to hold him and reassure him that everything was forgiven and that they were going to be stronger because of this… He didn’t want Tony sleeping alone, shivering and in pain. He didn’t want to sleep on the couch all by himself, knowing it was just as much his fault as it was Tony’s for not noticing things had gone too far. 

Tony hadn’t cried when he told Mike what happened with his ex-. Tony had started to look upset enough to cry when they’d been in his apartment, but Mike had never actually seen the man break down and sob like he had tonight.

That should’ve been his clue. That should’ve been the moment he realized he’d taken it too far and it wasn’t a scene anymore—it was an assault as far as Tony was concerned. 

Even on the couch away from Tony’s endless shaking, Mike couldn’t find any rest. He felt worse for getting up and leaving him, but what good would his presence do if Tony was visibly terrified of him? 

In the end, Mike found himself texting Vic at three in the morning—desperate for advice, any advice at all, even if he doubted Vic wanted to hear the details of his and Tony’s romance. He needed someone to talk to—someone to reassure him that he wasn’t the only one at fault for this and that he wasn’t a horrible person.

_I messed things up again,_ Mike texted. It wasn’t even three minutes later he got a reply from his brother.

_What did you do now?_ Followed quickly by, _Wait. .. Do I even want to know?_

_Sparing details. We had a scene. He won’t stop shaking and he tenses up when I kiss him. I don’t know how to help._

_Have you tried not hitting your boyfriends? That usually helps._

_I’m being serious. We had a scene. It was consensual. It went too far but he didn’t tell me it was going too far. By the time I figured it out it was too late._

_Did you ask him why he didn’t say anything?_

_He won’t talk to me. If I ask he just says he’s fine. But he’s not._

_I told you he was a weirdo but you were too busy rubbing it in my face that he “fucks like a porn star” to listen to me._

Mike rolled his eyes and typed back angrily. _Tony is NOT a weirdo. He has problems. I want to help him but I don’t know how._

_He’s not LETTING you help. I’ve dated girls like him before. They’re messed up from their ex and they’re used to playing the victim. He doesn’t want help._

_He’s not like that,_ Mike insisted. Tony wasn’t out for pity. If he wanted pity, he would’ve started throwing a fit—not slipped into shock. 

_I don’t know what you want me to do about it. I keep telling you he’s not right for you but you don’t wanna listen. You like SIMPLE people. He’s not simple and I feel like he’s just going to end up hurting you. I don’t want to see that happen._

Mike was quiet, staring at his phone and trying to think of what to say. He couldn’t say that wasn’t true. Tony was far from simple, and as soon as Mike started to feel he was finally figuring him out, Tony had some other curveball in store for him like the wrecked apartment. And he couldn’t say Tony wouldn’t hurt him either, because he already had. 

It was Tony’s responsibility to make it clear when his lines had been crossed. Mike had trusted him to speak up if things went too far so he could adjust his method—so things like this wouldn’t happen. But Tony hadn’t said a word. He let Mike hurt him and then tortured him by not letting him do anything to make up for it. Mike couldn’t even hold him or kiss him now… How was their bond supposed to strengthen after that? Who was to say Tony wouldn’t get up in the morning and claim Mike had assaulted him and want to break up?

_I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. I know Tony’s nice and you like him, but he’s not RIGHT for you._

_You’re wrong,_ Mike replied before closing out of the texts and getting up from the couch.

He wasn’t going to sleep here. He couldn’t.

Vic was right about one thing and one thing only—Tony was nice. 

Tony was kind and shy and nervous about everything. If he was in shock and Mike left him to himself, he wouldn’t be alright in the morning. Even if he didn’t want touched, he wouldn’t feel safe and his mind would start spinning the way it always did when things went wrong. He’d think Mike was angry at him. He’d think Mike would want to leave him and would start pulling away in preparation for the inevitable split he thought was coming. 

Mike didn’t want to let that happen.

Mike _couldn’t_ let that happen.

He went into the kitchen and filled another glass with water, then carried it with him to the bedroom. Tony was still shivering under the blankets when Mike arrived, but he didn’t flinch when Mike switched on the bedside lamp.

He stared at Mike though, his eyes puffy and red and fearful. He looked like he was awaiting bad news or thought Mike was coming to kick him out.

“I got you some more water. Will you drink a little bit for me?” Mike asked as he held out the glass to Tony. “I just want you to drink a little,” Mike insisted when Tony didn’t move. “You’re scaring me, Turtle. I don’t want you to go into shock again, okay? Just drink a little more.”

It took a moment, but Tony eventually slid one hand out from under the pile of blankets and wrapped his fingers around the glass. Once he had it, he started propping himself up just enough so he could take a drink. He was shaking so much that a few drops of water spilled out over the rim as he tiled the glass, but as soon as the water touched his lips he started swallowing it down as fast as he could.

In no time, the glass was empty and Mike went into the restroom to refill it and the empty glass Tony had on the nightstand already. When he returned, Tony drank the second cup just as quickly but shook his head when Mike offered him the third.

He was shaking less after he’d gotten more water, and even leaned his head against Mike’s shoulder when he climbed into bed beside him—the light still on.

“Feeling any better, Little Turtle?” Mike asked, gently putting an arm around Tony as he sat propped against the pillows and headboard. Tony was lying on his side, but rested against the pillows and Mike’s shoulder heavily. The pain was still evident in his face, but slowly—minute by minute—his shaking subsided until he was finally, _finally_ still.

“Stomach hurts,” Tony mumbled, one last tremor going down his spine.

“Your stomach? I gave you too much water, didn’t I?” Mike asked, feeling a bit disappointed in himself. Clearly he’d given him too much water at once. He’d already had two cups before they laid down. He didn’t need two more…

“No… I was thirsty. Water made me feel better…”

“Yeah?” Mike asked, daring to wrap his arm around Tony’s shoulders and pull him a little bit closer. It put him at ease when Tony shifted against him and let out a soft sigh—sounding comforted.

“Yeah. I wanted more water but…couldn’t go get it.”

“You can always tell me, Tony. I want to take care of you. Anything you want, just tell me. You’ll have it in a heartbeat.”

Tony merely sighed and nuzzled his face against Mike’s shoulder.

“Are you going to be okay?” Mike asked, not even sure how he expected Tony to answer such a loaded question.

“Yeah… I’m sorry. I should’ve said something. I-I know I should have.” Again, he started shivering and all Mike could do was hold him closer and pull the blankets up around him with his free hand. “I wanted to… I-I… I thought about it. The words just wouldn’t come out.”

“Were you afraid I’d do something worse if you asked me to stop?”

“I-I don’t know… I don’t think so. There was just so much in my head…” He was full on shivering again and Mike’s only other option was to hand him the remaining glass of water. Tony took a few small sips before handing the glass back to Mike. “I wanted to say yellow, but… I thought, ‘I deserve this. I can’t disappoint him. I can’t back out.’”

“You wouldn’t have disappointed me. I’m still learning your limits. I'm still figuring you out. It doesn’t let me down if you need a break or need me to stop. It keeps me in check—it keeps me from hurting you. I don’t _want_ to hurt you like that.”

“I know…” Tony sighed and scooted a little bit closer, letting out a quiet groan as he did.

“You don’t work tomorrow, do you?” Mike asked. 

“No. You do though, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, cringing at the thought of leaving Tony by himself after tonight. “But I might see if one of the other managers can take my shift. I’ve covered for them enough times.”

“I don’t want you to lose hours,” Tony said, shifting away out of Mike’s arms. Mike let him go but it hurt to see Tony pulling away from him.

“Well, I don’t want to lose you,” Mike said.

“You won’t lose me… I’ll just go back home and clean some more, probably.”

“I wanted to help you clean.”

“I can do it myself. I-I _need_ to do it myself. I hate seeing you touch all that filth… It’s not your problem. It’s _my_ problem.”

“It’s _our_ problem. You’re not alone in this anymore, Tony. Don’t you understand? I’m not judging you when I’m helping clean up.”

“It’s not about judgment. I just don’t want you to see me like that.” It _was_ about judgment, but Mike didn’t want to argue with him anymore.

“If you don’t want me there, I won’t come over anymore… But I want to see that you’re making progress. I can’t stand to think of you sleeping somewhere with bugs crawling on you,” Mike said, sliding down the pillows in order to lie at Tony’s side. “You’re so much better than that.”

“If you think so,” Tony mumbled, shifting closer until his face was buried in Mike’s chest. Mike wondered if the light was bothering him and if he wanted to sleep, but couldn’t bring himself to pull away even for the split second it would take to clip off the lamp. He didn’t want to let Tony go for a moment.


End file.
